


Bend Over Backwards

by thefutureisbright



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Yoga, Bikram yoga, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Happy Ending, M/M, Rimming, SO DON'T COME FOR ME, Yoga, Yogi!Eddie, a bit of .... angst, bendy boys, but it is possible, is anyone surprised at this point, sex in a frankly ridiculous position
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-10-21 00:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisbright/pseuds/thefutureisbright
Summary: ‘Will I be seeing you again? – I mean, in my class, will you come again?’, Eddie asks, tripping over his words. Richie thinks it’s adorable.‘Yes! Definitely, I’ll be coming back with Bev, for sure’‘Great’Richie takes bikram yoga classes, because Bev practically forces him to. He does, however, find himself not minding it that much.





	1. Richie Taps Out

Richie loved living with Bev. He loved the fact that she was always game to marathon romantic comedies with him, that she was always up for going to the shitty little dive bar three blocks away to hit on men with no intention of bringing them home. The thing he loved the most about Bev though, was the fact  that she was with Ben. Richie _loved_ Ben – hard-core best friend love. Ben lived in his own apartment, a fifteen minute drive away from casa del loser ( _Richie’s idea_ ), but he was almost always over at theirs, which Richie LOVED because Richie loved Ben, and he loved how happy Ben made Ben, and Ben makes a mean margarita and Richie loves Margaritas.

 

This particular morning started how it normally did. Bev’s out at some sports thing, Ben is still in bed, and Richie is making pancakes in the kitchen, singing ( _Bev would call it howling)_ along to I Believe In A Thing Called Love. The door clicks, and a very sweaty Beverly Marsh falls through the door, panting slightly and clutching a rolled up yoga mat under her arm. Richie throws a pancake at her, which she doesn’t catch. The pancake hits the floor with a pathetic _slap_ and Bev looks at Richie like, _what the hell, Richard?_

 

‘What the hell, Richard?’

 

‘Thought you might be hungry’ he replies, smirking.

 

Bev picks up the pancake, and promptly throws it in the trash, glaring at Richie as she does so.

 

‘What a waste of perfectly good pancake’ she laments, before tipping her head upside down and catching her fiery hair into a bun on the top of her head. Richie thinks she looks like a pineapple, and he tells her as such. She just flips him off, before flopping onto one of the kitchen stools.

 

‘Miss Marsh you are disgustingly sweaty. Have you just been dicked down somewhere in public? Didn’t peg you for an exhibitionist’

 

Beverly screeches, throwing a spoon at Richie’s head. He catches the spoon, and brandishes it at her like a sword. She puts her hands up, playing at surrender. They both laugh.

 

‘I’ve been at bikram yoga, you degenerate’

 

‘bik-ham what now?’ Richie asks lazily, piling up a plate of pancakes before drenching them in strawberry compote. Richie was a damn good cook, if he said so himself. Which he did, multiple times a day, much to Bev’s chagrin.

 

‘Bik _ram_ yoga. You do yoga in a heated room – it’s normally around 100 degrees or so, and it is A-MAZ-ING’ she replies dreamily, picking at one of the pancakes. Richie swats her hand away, but she just sticks her tongue out at him, continuing to eat his breakfast.

 

‘Well that sounds like the stupidest thing ever’

 

‘No, Richie, seriously, it’s incredible. You should totally come with me! I’m going again tomorrow morning’

 

Richie stares at her.

 

‘Do you know me at _all,_ Marsh? Problemo numbero uno, it happens before eleven am which is just.. an absolute no. And two, I’m about as bendy as a _stick,_ a very brittle stick, so unless you want to see me actually snap in half, I don’t think it’d be a very good idea’

 

Bev doesn’t even blink, launching into a tirade of reasons why Richie should absolutely definitely come with her tomorrow morning. Richie thinks that she’d probably been planning to entice ( _force!)_ him to come with her since before she’d even got home.

 

‘It’s futile me even attempting to convince you that I’m not coming tomorrow, isn’t it’

 

Bev just grins.

 

‘Yep!’

 

* * *

 

 

So Richie finds himself getting up at the ungodly hour of 7am, and following Bev to the yoga studio like a lost puppy. The yoga studio is downtown, in a building that used to be the old swimming pool. They pay at the reception, giving their money to a bright-faced, enthusiastic man called Mike, who points Richie in the direction of the men’s changing room. He thanks Mike, before Bev leaves him to get changed in the women’s changing room. Bev had told him that he’d be unbearably hot even in what people normally wear to the gym, and that, really, all he should be wearing is cycling shorts. He’d been absolutely adamant that he would _not_ be just wearing cycling shorts, but she’d gotten all serious like, ‘Richie, you’ll get heat stroke, seriously. No one will care what you’re wearing’, so he’d conceded. He had, however, shaved his chest last night which made Bev howl with laughter.

Richie gets changed into the cycling shorts, and is relieved to see that the changing room is actually full of men of all ages wearing pretty much exactly the same thing he is. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shoves his normal clothes into one of the lockers, and steps out of the changing room. Bev is already waiting for him, dressed in a deep burgundy sports bra and tiny black shorts.

 

‘ _dayyyyymn,_ Marsh, who knew you were a hottie with a body’

 

‘Come on, Trashmouth, let’s get set up’

 

Richie lets Bev pull him into the studio, which looks just any other gym studio. The floor is sprung wooden boards, and the wall at the front is one huge mirror with a bar. Bev walks to the corner the furthest from the wall, and unrolls her mat. Richie, who is borrowing one of Bev’s old mats, does the same. They both sit on their mats, watching the rest of the yogis filter in through the door. Richie can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s nervous. He scans around the room when it’s filled up, and realizes that none of these people know who he is. He doesn’t recognize anyone, and they won’t recognize him, and he’s _fine._ He starts to feel better about the fact that he won’t actually be able to DO any of the stupid poses or whatever.

 

Bev, sensing Richie’s apprehension, places a calming hand on his arm. She knows.

 

‘You’re going to be fine, Richie, honestly. I’m not that great, so we can just be shitty yogis’ in this corner together, okay?’

 

Richie wants to quip something about ‘yogi’ being a pretentious, ridiculous thing to call yourself, but he doesn’t. He just sends a whispered _thanks_ her way.

 

‘and besides’, Bev continues, a wicked glint in her eye, ‘you’re in for a _very_ nice surprise, Tozier’

Richie snorts, pushing her arm away playfully.

 

‘Woman, you’re an enigma’

 

The room, which had been almost chilly when they’d walked in, suddenly began to noticeably heat up, swiftly moving past cold to comfortable to warm to almost boiling. Richie can already feel beads of sweat slide slowly down his back. Bev stands up, bouncing on her heels slightly. She’s excited, Richie notes. He stands up too, grabbing one last drink from his bottle before he’s contorted into god knows what pretzel position.

 

When the instructor walks through the door, Richie actually chokes on his water, spraying it out of his mouth like a moron. The instructor is short, but built like an Adonis. His face is kind, and open, and clean shaven. His hair is fluffy, messy and quaffed up out of his face. His chest is bare, but he wears a thin silver chain around his neck. His tan skin is taught over his defined muscles, a trail of hair leading from his navel into the worlds tiniest-tightest shorts. Richie can feel his mouth fall open comically, before he turns to Bev.

 

‘Bev’

 

‘I know’

 

‘ _Bev’_

_‘I know!’_ she replies slyly, the same wicked glint in her eye, before she erupts into goofy laughter. Then, much to Richie’s embarrassment, the instructor looks directly at them, his head cocked curiously. Richie is sure his face is as scarlet as Bev’s damn sports bra.

 

‘Oh, sorry, Eddie, Richie here just said something absolutely _hilarious’_ Bev simpers, and Richie wants to smack her. The instructor – _Eddie_ – smiles this soft, small smile.

 

‘I don’t think I’ve seen you before, Richie, welcome! I’m Eddie, like Beverly said, and I’ll be leading us through the sequence today. Have you done bikram yoga before?’

 

Richie shakes his head, no.

 

‘Well, I’ll come over and help you if I think you need it, but for now, if everyone could stand with their feet together and their arms reaching strong towards the ceiling we’ll begin’

 

* * *

 

 

So, it turns out that Richie loves bikram yoga. He loves the biting, cruel heat, and he loves the way it makes his muscles feel loose, strong, supple. He loves that the heat helps him stretch just that _little_ bit further, his hands get _that_ much closer to the ground when his legs are pin straight. He loves the feeling of the sweat running down his back in large drops, cooling his skin as it evaporates. But, mostly, he loves watching Eddie. The way Eddie’s body flows through the sequences, the way his muscles shift under his skin, the way his kind eyes stay trained on his students. Richie isn’t very good, obviously. He isn’t strong enough to hold most of the poses for longer than a few seconds, and he can’t put his palms flat on the floor when his legs are straight. Whilst the heat is helping make his muscles more supple, he can’t force his body to bend into some of the more complicated positions. Currently, Eddie is sat at the front of the studio, legs pretzeled into a lotus like it was the most natural position in the world. Richie can _sort of_ do it, but when he manually hauls his left leg to rest on his thigh, the right leg just slips straight off again, and he’s back to square one. He stops looking at Eddie, briefly, to stare at his own uncooperative legs, and that brief moment is enough for Eddie to spring up out of his own lotus, and start walking around the room. He lazily walks over to where Richie and Bev are sat, and smiles approvingly at Bev’s almost perfect lotus.

 

‘Fantastic, Bev. Well done!’

 

‘Teacher’s Pet’ Richie hisses.

 

Bev snorts knowingly, but Eddie blinks at him, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

 

‘Richie, you’re doing great! let me just–‘

 

Richie’s skin burns with the fire of a thousand suns, and it’s not just because the room is set to nearly 100 degrees. Eddie’s hands, which are soft and damp, are moving Richie’s right leg to slot back underneath his left. Richie can’t hold the position for very long when Eddie legs go of his leg, his body giving up and his right leg shooting straight back out of its position defiantly. Eddie, though, still looks at him like he’d just stood on his head for the first time.

‘Excellent’, he hums approvingly, before wandering back to the front of the room.

 

‘ _Excellent’_ Bev parrots back, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

 

Richie ignores her.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s only fifteen minutes before the session is supposed to end that Richie’s body starts to protest, loudly. He’s aching, the heat is cruel and oppressive and it’s all becoming just a little bit too much. The rest of the class are stood in warrior pose, but Richie can’t quite make his legs stay rooted to the ground, and he keeps losing his balance. He huffs angrily at himself, pawing at his hair until he’s shoved it on the top of his head in the worlds messiest bun. He tries again, positive that it was just his unruly hair that was causing his whole body to sway violently, but he only manages to stay in warrior for three seconds before he has to steady himself again. Richie gives up, and crouches on the mat, briefly hiding his face in his hands. When he looks up, he notices that Eddie is striding purposefully straight towards him. He stops at a few other students on his way over, lifting their arms or straightening their torsos, barking out praise as he goes. When he gets to Richie, he crouches down next to him.

 

‘It’s okay, you know. Bikram yoga is incredibly mentally and physically exhausting for most people the first time they try it’, Eddie says in a low, comforting hum. ‘Hell, I fainted the first time I tried it. Like, full on ate dirt kinda fainting, it was horrific. But, here I am. Try lying on your back’

 

Eddie’s hands guide Richie’s torso back, so he’s lying on the yoga mat with his knees bent.

 

‘– Straighten out your legs’, Eddie continues, gently sliding his palm down Richie’s legs, pushing them down, so he’s now lying flat on the mat.

 

‘– and close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose for seven, and out through your mouth for five. Pull your tummy back towards your spine, and – breeeeeeathe’.

 

Richie can feel Eddie looking at him, even through his closed eyes.

 

‘Yes, _excellent’_ Eddie murmers, before Richie can sense him stand up and walk off.

 

Richie was sure he could hear Bev parrot back Eddie’s ‘excellent’ again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

 

When the session was over, Richie follows Bev out of the room in a sort of daze. The cool air hits his skin like thousands of tiny rocks, and leaves his body sizzling. He goes back into the changing room, and his heart drops slightly when he doesn’t see Eddie getting changed. He hauls his aching body into the shower, standing under a stream of water as cold as he could physically bare, before getting changed back into the same loose track pants and old iron maiden shirt he’d worn in. He takes the elastic out of his hair, and shakes it out like a dog. He looks in the mirror, and almost laughs at himself. His face is bright red, and still sweaty despite the shower. His hair looks absolutely wild. He looks hilarious.

 

He leaves the changing room and meets Bev in the reception, who looks like she’s glowing. She bounces over to him, hair flying wildly around her shoulders.

 

‘Did you, or did you not, LOVE bikram yoga?!’

 

‘I did love it! It was great, actually, even though I had to tap out like a little bitch at the end’

 

Bev hits her shoulder into his, playfully.

 

‘and I think I know whhyyyyyy you loved it so much’ she sing-songs, smirking gleefully.

 

Richie winks at her, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth, before he realises that he’d left his sports bottle in the studio.

 

‘Hang on, Red, I just need to go and get my bottle, I left it –‘, he babbles, shucking off his converse and walking back to the studio door. He looks in through the little glass window, expecting the studio to be empty, but it isn’t. Eddie is still in there, still dressed in his shorter-than-should-be-legal shorts. He’s currently in a headstand, arms bracketed around his head, legs pointing towards the ceiling, stomach muscles taught and rippling. His eyes are closed, and Richie just stands in the doorway in a silent panic, unsure what to do. He decides to make his presence known, and coughs awkwardly. Eddie startles out of his position, and windmills his legs gracefully down so he’s now crouched on his knees. Richie groans inwardly. _Damn._

 

He starts to apologise, before Eddie cuts him off, smiling.

 

‘Oh, hey, it’s fine! Don’t worry Richie. Are you okay?’

 

Richie just points stupidly at the bottle on the other side of the room.

 

‘Yeah, I just forgot  … my bottle … I’ll just’

 

He starts to walk into the studio, but Eddie springs to his feet. He strides over to where the bottle is abandoned on the floor, picks it up, and then walks it back over to Richie. Richie’s sure he’d just swallowed his tongue. He watches Eddie walk, and the way the muscles in his thighs are so strong, so defined that they don’t move when he walks. He watches the way Eddie rolls his shoulders, in a way that is probably subconscious but is nothing short of enticing.

 

‘You did really well today, Richie, I was very impressed’ Eddie says as he hands Richie the sports bottle.

 

Richie snorts, crudely, before replying, ‘Really? I had to tap out and lie on the floor at the end or did you forget about that’

 

Eddie just smiles the same damn soft smile again and Richie’s pretty sure that’s going to be the thing that kills him.

 

‘No, I didn’t forget, I told you about _my_ first time doing bikram yoga, and you didn’t faint or vomit or have to leave or run screaming out of the door so. I’m proud of you’

 

Richie feels his chest puff out. He feels stupidly happy.

 

‘Thanks, teach’, he says with a wink.

 

Eddie _beams_ at him, an honest to god megawatt grin, and Richie decides that this beam is his favourite kind of Eddie smile.

 

‘Will I be seeing you again? – I mean, in my class, will you come again?’, Eddie asks, tripping over his words. Richie thinks it’s adorable.

 

‘Yes! Definitely, I’ll be coming back with Bev, for sure’

 

‘Great’

 

Richie doesn’t move immediately, finding himself anchored to the spot. He stares into Eddie’s eyes in a way that he thinks is probably incredibly awkward but Eddie doesn’t drop his gaze. Eventually, he tears himself away, sending a rushed ‘See ya, Eds!’ over his shoulder, before shuffling out the door.

 

If he’d turned around to look at Eddie once more, he would have seen Eddie standing in the middle of the studio, that same soft smile on his flushed face, not entirely the result of the heat in the room.


	2. holy fucking OUCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has an accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: mentions of blood, and physical injuries (accidental!)

 

After they’d left the yoga studio, Bev immediately pounced on Richie and demanded that he told her what had happened between him and Eddie when they’d been alone in the studio. Richie, who was still in a slight haze from both interacting with Eddie on a one-to-one basis _,_ and from being in a room that was 100 degrees for over an hour. He’d shimmied around until Bev slid off his back, landing on her feet, feline and neat. He avoided her questioning effectively enough when he’d dragged her into the café next to the studio, distracted her with one of those disgusting spirulina smoothies that people who do yoga drink. Richie had tried one that she’d brought home and he distinctly remembered it tasting like grass. He was no sheep.

 

Unfortunately, the disgusting grass juice did not keep detective inspector Marsh occupied for long.

 

‘Are you going to tell me on your own volition or am I going to have to beat it out of you?’ She asked him, swirling the straw ( _biodegradable, don’t you know)_ around in her drink absently.

 

‘’vatever do you mean, Miz Marsh?’ Richie had replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

 

‘The German guy? Really?’

 

‘Deutschland, ja!’

 

‘You’re delusional. The heat has fried the last few brain cells you had left, Tozier, I swear to God – NO’ Beverly slapped the table, hard, before recoiling and cradling her hand against her chest protectively.

 

‘ _goddamn it, that fucking hurt –_ NO, perhaps it wasn’t the heat that fried your brain, perhaps it was the sight of a certain _someone,_ and the sight of a certain _someone’s_ ass in –‘

 

Richie plucked the straw from the juice, some of the thick, mossy-green liquid still trapped inside, pointed it straight at Beverly’s face and blew into the end. Hard.

 

Beverly stared at him, green smoothie dripping onto her cheeks from where it had landed on her eyebrows. Richie held his breath.

 

‘Bev, my dear, my love, my shining star, please don’t do anything irrational, please –‘

 

Before Richie could finish his sentence, Bev had upended the rest of the green juice on his head.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a lot of begging, an apple Danish, and promising to do the washing up for the next two weeks for Bev to agree to take Richie back to hot yoga with her. ( _what Richie didn’t know was that Bev would have taken him with her even if he hadn’t agreed to her demands, but what’s a little extortion between friends)._ Bev, who normally went to yoga once every three days, had even agreed to go back to the studio the very next day, to let Richie ‘gawp’ ( _her word)_ at Eddie for another 90 minutes. Richie had the best friend in the world.

 

That’s how he’d found himself waking up at 4:30am on a freaking Sunday, stomach swirling with butterflies the size of birds. He decided that the best course of action would be to scroll on the internet and try and distract himself. He didn’t dare wake Bev up and demand that she entertain him. If she didn’t castrate him with her bare hands, Ben surely would. Ben was the definition of soft until you woke him up before he’d had exactly eight hours sleep. Richie had learnt _THAT_ the hard way – quite literally. He mooched on twitter for a while, scrolling aimlessly through his timeline, liking this meme, that meme, a cute picture of a cat, the picture Bev had tweeted of them after they’d come out of Yoga, faces crimson and eyes bright. He clicked on the tweet, trying to think of something suitably witty to reply with, when he noticed that someone else had replied to the picture.

 

         @ _EKaspbrakYoga_

You two look great ! I hope to see you both back in class soon :-)

 

Richie could feel his face glowing bright red, before he rolled his eyes hard enough that his vision went blurry. Eddie hadn’t said _he_ looked great, he’d said _they_ looked great. He was just being _nice,_ you know, _like people you pay to teach you to contort your body into pretzels are._ Clicking on Eddie’s profile, he noticed that they had one follower in common. Bev. Richie hovered his thumb over the blue ‘Follow’ button, holding his breath. If Eddie followed Bev, it was probably totally socially acceptable to follow him too, right? Eddie had said they looked good. It was basically an invitation, right?

Richie pressed the button before he could second guess himself.

Almost comically quickly, Richie’s phone buzzed, announcing that ‘@ _EKaspbrakYoga_ followed you!’. Richie glanced at the time. Still just gone 4:38am. Richie wondered what kind of masochist willingly wakes up at this time in the morning, if they don’t have nerves swirling around the pit of their stomach. As if he could read Richie’s mind, another notification caused Richie’s phone to buzz loudly in his hands.

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga_

Hello, Richie! Thank you for following me, I hope you don’t mind me following you back. Why are you awake so early? I’m in the studio trying to fix one of the heaters, it blew last night. Nightmare :-O

 

Richie snorted at the emoticon Eddie had typed out manually.

 

@ _bigrickdich_

You type noses on your emojis! That ! is ! so ! cute !

But that sucks :( can you not get a … heater wizard to come out and fix it for you?

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga_

 I can’t afford a heating wizard, otherwise known as a plumber :-( I have to fix                   my own problems

I’m going to get Mike to try when he comes in at a more reasonable time … !!

 

@ _bigrickdich_

You type like an actual old person and its making my heart hUUUUUURT

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga_

I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to that ? thank you ? how dare you ?

 

@ _bigrickdich_

Cute cute cute

 

Eddie didn’t immediately reply after that, so Richie assumed he was off grappling with the rogue heater. He was vaguely aware that the butterfly-birds in his stomach had shrunk to the size of pinheads before he fell asleep again.

 

* * *

 

This time when Richie woke up it was because something heavy and distinctly Bev-shaped had landed on his stomach with a loud cackle and a ‘ _get up get up get up get up we’re going to be laaaaaaaate’._ Richie didn’t need to be told twice.

 

They’d gotten to the studio ten minutes early, and Richie had been half way through ripping his sweatshirt ( _that he was pretty sure had belonged to Bev a few years ago)_ off over his head as he pushed through the door to the changing room as he collided with someone who was stood directly in front of the door on the inside.

 

‘ _oof’_ the someone huffed, as they stumbled forwards.

 

‘oh God, I’m sorry, man’ Richie started, before he saw whose ass it was that he’d assaulted with the door.

 

‘Richie!’ Eddie breathed, eyes sparkling and mouth stretched wide in a megawatt grin.

 

‘Eddie I’m so sorry’ Richie laughed, ‘do you want me to rub it better?’

 

The line was out of his mouth before his brain even realised, and he slammed a hand over his mouth in horror, eyes wide.

 

‘I, I mean, I didn’t mean –‘ Richie stumbled, still hiding his mouth behind his palm, face burning.

 

 As he started walking past him, Richie totally expected Eddie’s grin to melt from his face, replaced with a thin straight line and angry eyes. He expected Eddie to storm out of the changing room, banning him from ever stepping foot in the studio ever again. What happened though was perhaps even worse.

 

‘Maybe later’ Eddie hummed, voice almost unrecognisable. It wasn’t soft and light, but low and deep, thick and chocolate-y. Richie could feel something stir deep in the pit of his stomach – not butterflies, or butterfly birds but something primal and wanting.

 

When Richie finally managed to jerk his head out of a daze, Eddie was long gone.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Crow pose is quite challenging, you guys. Don’t be disheartened if you can’t hold it for very long, or if you can’t hold it at all, just experiment with putting slightly more and more weight on your forearms each time – nice, Sandra! Lovely form’

 

Eddie was walking around the studio, shirt off, shorter-than-short-shorts on, thick beads of sweat running down his back. Richie wanted to know what they tasted like. Currently, he was crouched on his tiptoes, knees resting on his bicep just above his elbow. He had tried to tip forward onto his arms, feet barely hovering a millimetre off the ground before he’d lost both his nerve and his balance, and fallen back onto his feet. He was determined that Eddie would see him actually _do something_ this session. He was determined that he wouldn’t just be that novice in the corner that can’t even do a stupid _crow pose._ How hard could it be? Richie looked at Bev, who was balanced in beautiful equilibrium, arms shaking very _very_ slightly but otherwise she was holding strong. Her eyes were closed and she had a blissed out expression on her face. Richie wanted that.

 

He breathed in, _one, two, three, four, five,_ and exhaling a long, powerful stream of air through his mouth he pushed himself forward, knees propped up on his bicep. For one exhilarating minute, one perfect minute, Richie did it. He did a perfect crow, until his left knee slipped and he lost his balance and he toppled forward. Due to the nature of the pose, it wasn’t very convenient for Richie to break his fall with his hands, so he just fell helplessly, face first, towards the thin yoga mat. His face made contact with the thin, damp mat with a _crunch_ that seemed to echo across the entire studio.

 

The studio descended into a stunned silence, broken only by a

 

‘ _holy fucking OUCH’_

Before he could really process what had happened, Richie felt one hand on his back and one hand on the side of his face.

 

‘Richie, Richie let me – Richie, can you hear me?’

 

‘Loud and clear, teach, loud and clear – my nose fucking hurts’

 

When Richie sat up, all he could see was Eddie’s concerned face crowding him.

 

‘Richie I think your nose might be broken’

‘Nah, it’s not broken, I broke it when I was nine when I thought it’d be a really _swell_ idea to try and jump off the top of the library steps on my skateboard. This doesn’t hurt like that. I probably just fucked up the cartilage or something’

 

Eddie didn’t look convinced, his eyes flicking between Richie’s eyes, nose and – _interesting –_ his mouth. In his delirious pain-infused state, Richie let himself believe that Eddie’s little glances at his mouth meant more than Eddie simply watching the steady stream of blood flowing from Richie’s nose pool on the top of his lip and drip slowly onto the crease of his grin.

 

‘Okay, I’m just gonna – Guys, I think I’m going to end the class here for now, I’ll make up the extra time another day, I just gotta –‘ Eddie was garbling a load of nonsense, Richie thought, but he was being hurried to his feet, Eddie’s strong arms grasping his shoulders, and ushered up out of the studio and through the corridor and into a room he’d never been in before. It was small, and there wasn’t much in it apart from a desk, a computer that looked about twenty years old and a few pictures hanging on the wall. One of them was Eddie, on a beach, doing some complicated bridge pose. Richie snorted, coagulated blood forcing its way out of his nose.  

 

‘That picture is so lame, Eds’

 

‘Hmm’ Eddie wasn’t really listening, Richie could tell. He idly watched Eddie bustle around the small office, pulling things out of the drawer of the desk. His vision was blurry, and his nose hurt. His nose hurt _loads._ He told Eddie this, and earned a sympathetic, ‘ _Oh, Richie’_ for his troubles.

 

Eddie crowded Richie against the desk, which Richie would have found undeniably arousing had his nose not felt like it was simultaneously on fire and like it was being stabbed with several tiny knives. The blood was still flowing, but Eddie had shoved a wad of balled up tissue under it, and was holding the bridge of Richie’s nose.

 

‘Oh Richie’ Eddie repeated, his brow knotted with concern. Richie just smiled dopily, a metallic coppery taste immediately flooding his tongue. His face scrunched in an automatic grimace.

 

‘How did you do this to yourself?’

 

‘I may or may not have been to ambitious with that bloody pigeon pose’

 

‘Crow pose’

 

‘it could be fucking woodpecker pose for all I care, it _broke my nose’_

 

‘I thought you said your nose wasn’t broken, maybe I should – I’m gonna ring 911’ Eddie had started to pull away from Richie, reaching for the landline on his desk. Richie caught his arm before he could grab the handset.

 

‘I was just being dramatic, Eds. It’s not really broken, I’m just being dramatic. All it needs is a kiss better, _I wonder who could do that?’_ Richie leered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, not caring that he probably looked ridiculous. Maybe he had a minor concussion.

 

Eddie laughed, but this laugh was high, bright, and slightly squeaky, and a light flush spread across his cheeks like the tide.

 

‘I think I’ll pass, Rich, I don’t want a mouth full of your blood’

 

Richie pouted. Eddie rolled his eyes, before pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

 

‘and would you look at that! My nose! True loves kiss! It fixed it!’ Richie announced in a breathy voice, doing his best Disney princess impression, but his declaration was ruined by another spurt of blood exploding from his left nostril.

 

Eddie tutted at him, shoving fresh tissues in his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

Richie’s nose didn’t bleed for very long, eventually clotting up. He stayed sat in Eddie’s office for a while longer, partly because his head still felt wooly, but partly because he enjoyed Eddie fussing around him like a concerned mother goose. Eddie had gone and collected Richie’s ( _Bev’s?)_ sweater from the changing room, and Richie had forced it over his head, trying his hardest not to knock his fragile nose. He hadn’t even realised he and Eddie had practically been naked-chest to naked-chest before it was too late, and Eddie was running out of the door to get Richie’s sweater. When he came back, Richie was dismayed to find that he was now dressed in loose jersey pants and a soft looking long sleeved shirt. Richie wanted to stroke him.

‘Do you think you’ll be okay to leave? Bev’s outside waiting for you, she said she can take you home – you live together, apparently. I mean – you do live together, of course you know that. I’m rambling. I’m just glad you live with someone and you’re not going home alone’

 

‘Oh shit, yeah, Bev – I’m fine, Dr K, really. You patched me up nice and propah’ Richie slurred, carefully getting to his feet.

 

Eddie was staring at him from the other side of the desk, his eyes wide and owlish. Before Richie could say anything else, Bev’s head popped around the door.

 

‘knock, knock, am I interrupting? How is the patient? Tozier, you are such a fucking idiot’ she laughed, knocking his shoulder with hers, before she pulled him into a careful, one armed hug.

 

‘Are you okay?’

 

‘Yeah, I’m fine, Marsh. Dr K here was my knight in shining booty shorts’

 

That made Eddie snort. A proper, unabashed, embarrassing, piggy snort.

 

‘Woah, okay, I need to hear you make that noise again’ Richie announced, eliciting yet another eye roll from Eddie.

 

‘Get out of my office, you reprobate. I need to scrub your disgusting blood out of my carpet. You’re lucky I don’t ban you from my studio!’

 

‘Aw, shucks, Ed. I liked you better when you were sending me emoticons with noses – which, have I mentioned, _cute?’_

 

‘Seriously, get out!’

 

Richie stumbled out of Eddie’s office, arm shucked around Bev’s shoulder, laughing.

 

‘You’d never ban me! You’d miss watching my perfect ass when you make us do downward facing dog!’ Richie hollered over his shoulder, tone light and playful.

 

Eddie stood in the doorway to his office, arms crossed across his chest, leaning against the frame, a small smile on his face.

 

‘Yeah, I guess I would’

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it seems I am incapable of writing a story that DOESN’T INVOLVE TWITTER????? what an idiot I am. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Writing this is making me miss yoga.
> 
> Lemme know what you loved and what you hated and I’ll see you all again soon no doubt <3
> 
> ALSO I HAVE A TUMBLR YOU CAN REACH ME ON NOW;  
> @thefutureisnotsobright  
> X x x x x


	3. the studio will be closed until further notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @EKaspbrakYoga
> 
> Hi everyone, unfortunately the studio will be closed until further notice due to heater malfunctions. Sorry for any inconvenience, hope to see you all soon with functioning heaters! – Eddie.

 

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga_

Hi everyone, unfortunately the studio will be closed until further notice due to heater malfunctions. Sorry for any inconvenience, hope to see you all soon with functioning heaters! – Eddie.

 

Richie glared accusingly at the screen, as if he could force the letters to dance across the brightly lit surface and form new, less catastrophic words.

 

‘Beeeevvv’ he wailed, clutching the phone to his chest.

 

‘Why are you hollering at me like a moose, Tozier?’ Bev grumbled, sticking her head around Richie’s bedroom door. It floated there, all disembodied, and Richie would have laughed had he not been so distraught.

 

‘Have you seen Eddie’s tweet?’

 

‘No. I don’t have push notifications on for his account unlike _some people I could name._ What did he say?’

 

Richie didn’t respond, just sprang up from his bed where he had been lying morosely, and proceeded to shove the phone in Bev’s face.

 

‘Jesus Richie, hang on’, Bev batted his hands away, snatching the phone from his grasp and holding it at a more reasonable distance from her face. Richie watched her eyes scan the tweet. Her expression changed from confusion, to realisation and slid straight into amusement.

 

‘Oh no, Rich’ She said in voice dripping with faux-concern. Her eyes were twinkling with a kind of ‘ _I’m going to rub this in your face’_ ness that Richie was so used to, and was – in other circumstances – so fond of. This, however, was no such circumstance.

 

‘ _Bev’_

 

‘I know Rich’

 

‘What the hell am I going to _do?’_

 

‘What do you mean _what are you going to do?’_ Bev shot back in a mocking tone, pushing her way past Richie and flopping down on his bed. Richie padded over next to her, and dropped straight on her stomach, forcing a large 'OOF' of breath to force its way out of Bev’s mouth. She slapped at his head lightly, before carding her fingers absently through Richie’s hair. Richie hummed sadly.

 

‘You know what I mean, detective Marsh’

 

Now Beverly hummed sympathetically, and this time Richie could tell that she was being serious.

 

‘You could always text him?’

 

‘I don’t have his number’ was Richie’s immediate response.

 

‘Tweet him?’

 

‘I could do that’

 

‘You _should_ do that’ Bev replied, shoving the phone back in Richie’s hands. The direct message page was open on the twitter app, and Eddie’s name was highlighted.

 

_Start a new message!_

 

‘What do I say?’

 

Bev looked at him with an incredulous look on her face.

 

‘Really? Maybe something along the lines of _Hey Eddie, I hope you’re okay, I’m not okay because you’ve closed your studio for some reason and I’m mourning the fact that I can’t gawp at your ass in those –‘_

 

Richie cut her off before she could finish the sentence with a swift pinch to her left arm. Beverly squawked indignantly, before huffing with indulgent laughter.

 

‘Whatever, Marsh. Your services are no longer required’ Richie said, shoving at Beverly until she stood up. He didn’t let her leave his room without a ‘love ya, kid’ sent with a pantomime blown kiss in her direction. Beverly really was the bees fuckin’ tits.

 

@ _bigrickdich_

            hey eds! im gutted you’ve cancelled the session 2moro

 

@ _bigrickdich_

            Is everything okay?

 

When Richie looked at his phone an hour later, Eddie still hadn’t replied. Richie chalked it up to the fact that Eddie was probably dealing with the mysterious ‘heater malfunctions’ that Eddie had mentioned in his tweet. Eddie had also sent a generic email to all of his clients, with the same information.

 

Richie tried, really really _tried_ not to stare at his phone like a lovesick puppy all day. By the time three hours had passed, and his fingers itched horribly with desperation, Richie sent another direct message.

 

@ _bigrickdich_

            im tempted to try that crow pose again

 

@ _bigrickdich_

            how much blood do u think a carpet can absorb? asking 4 a friend

 

@ _bigrickdich_

            I hope that heating malfunction isnt giving you too much trouble :(

 

When Eddie _still_ hadn’t replied two hours after the second lot of messages, Richie gives up. He assumes that Eddie either (a) is far too busy dealing with whatever has happened at the yoga studio to look at his phone or, (b) for whatever reason, doesn’t want to talk to Richie. For his own wellbeing, Richie decided to believe the former.

 

‘Stop being such a fucking mope, Richard’ Bev’s voice came filtering through from the kitchen, accompanied by a cacophony of metal scraping against metal.

 

‘Marsh, what the hell are you doing in there? Building a robot?’

 

‘har de har, Dick. No, I’m trying to find the damn pasta pan but I think that’s the pan that we –‘

 

‘Yeah, that’s the pan we tried to mix cement in. I threw it out’ Richie replied, clutching his stomach as he laughed. He didn’t remember exactly why they’d tried to mix cement in a pasta pan. They were high, he remembers that much. He also remembers going to home depot to get the cement.

 

‘D’ya want me to cook?’

 

‘YES’ Bev practically shouts, dropping the various kitchen utensils she had in her arms directly onto the floor.

 

‘I guess I’m going to have to go to the damn supermarket then, unless ‘ya fancy –‘ Richie opens the fridge and peers in, ‘Pears? Pears and pickles? Or I could do pears and two year old mustard? Nope? No pears? Alrighty then’

 

* * *

 

 

Richie drives to the supermarket with all four windows rolled down on his jeep, the warm wind whipping his face pleasantly, the B-52s blaring from the tinny speakers.

 

When Richie arrives at the supermarket, he pulls into the small parking lot and bounces through the doors. He mooches around, throwing things in his basket that he really doesn’t need, before a voice catches his attention.

 

 ‘Thank you for shopping at fresh farms, we hope to see you again soon!’ spoke the cheery, very familiar voice.

 

Sure enough, when Richie peers around a stand of organic coconut water, it’s Eddie.

 

Eddie is standing behind the checkout, wearing a stupid little green apron. His hair is sticking up wildly, like he’s been running his hands through it obsessively. Richie watches him do just that.

 

Richie saunters over, and joins the queue for Eddie’s check out. When Eddie sees him his face goes pallid and he stutters when he’s giving change back to the woman he’s serving. When Richie gets to the front of the queue, Eddie’s face is practically transparent.

 

Richie greets Eddie with a warm, breezy ‘Heya, Eds!’

 

‘Hello, Richie’ comes Eddie’s hushed response. Eddie won’t catch Richie’s eye, instead staring reverently at the various vegetables he’s entering into the till system.

 

‘Whatcha doin’ here?’

 

‘Um…’

 

Richie waits for a beat, giving Eddie a chance to reply. When the reply doesn’t come, Richie can’t help himself but continue prodding.

 

‘Do you work here?’ he asks, gesturing vaguely to the apron. He knows it’s a stupid question, but it falls out of his mouth before he can stop it.

 

Eddie almost laughs at that. Almost.

 

‘Yeah, I guess I do’ he replies, glancing up at Richie’s face. Their eyes meet, and Richei takes that as a win.

 

‘Oh, that’s cool! The pretzel business not bringing in much dollar?’

 

Eddie stares at him like he’d just spoken Latin.

 

‘…Pretzel business?’

 

‘Yeah! You know – you turn people into pretzels. All contorted, like.’

 

‘Ohhhh’ Eddie drawls, not looking particularly amused. ‘Yeah, no it’s not. Especially not now’

 

Something dark flashes across Eddie’s face, quick as lightning.

 

‘What happened? I saw your tweet – I messaged you, but you didn’t reply’

 

‘Oh. Sorry, I’ve been on shift since seven this morning. I haven’t had a chance to check my phone. You know I told you about the boiler problems I had the first time you messaged me?’ Eddie asks.

 

Richie just nods in response.

 

‘Well, the boiler malfunctioned again. Like, seriously malfunctioned. I heat the bikram room with a system that involves hot water and the system broke. The room is completely flooded – like, water up to my ankles. I don’t know how to empty it – I guess I’m going to have to rent an industrial suction hose?’

 

Richie strains under the pressure to not make a depraved joke about industrial hoses. He guesses Eddie wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

‘Oh shit, Spaghetti Man. That’s awful’ is what he says instead.

 

‘Spaghetti Man?’ Eddie replied, eyebrow cocked.

 

‘Yeah – you’re holding my spaghetti –‘ Richie gestures at the packet of spaghetti clutched forgotten in Eddie’s hand, half-way through being scanned.  

 

‘Your name is Eddie. It rhymes. I was trying to lighten the mood’

 

‘I see’ Eddie laughs. He laughs, and Richie’s stomach floats back up from where it was weighed down on the floor.

 

‘But yeah, oh shit indeed’ Eddie continues, shoving the now remembered spaghetti in the brown paper bag.

 

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Richie asks, feeling helpless.

 

‘Unfortunately not. Not unless you have a spare ten grand lying around’ Eddie jokes. Or, he tries to joke, but the words come shooting out like bullets. ‘Don’t worry about me, Rich, I’m going to be fine’

 

‘Have you got someone coming to fix it?’ Richie asks, holding his breath. An idea was brewing in the pit of his stomach.

 

‘Nah, I can’t afford it right now. The repairs are going to cost me 10 grand or so, the entire floor was made of wood so it’s sat in stagnant water just … rotting away. I’m still paying the mortgage on the place, and I need to keep paying Mike’s wage because it’s not his fault the place flooded. It’s probably mine, I probably didn’t look after the place properly or something, so I can’t just … not pay him. He has a family to feed

 

‘So… you know you were saying about if I had a spare ten grand sitting around?’ Richie starts, voice cautious.

 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with a bemused look on his face.

 

‘Well – my grandparents left me a rather schweeeet inheritance, ya see. It’s been sat in my bank account for years. I haven’t used it – never know what to use it on. I don’t wanna spunk it on useless shit, ya know?’

 

‘Richie, where are you going with this?’

 

‘Let me give it to you’

 

Eddie slams the pepper he’s holding down on the counter. It squishes under his hand, pepper pulp coating his fingers.

 

‘Absolutely not’

 

‘Why not? It’s just sat in my account’

 

‘Richie I am not letting you give me ten thousand fucking dollars’

 

'Why not?! The money is literally just sitting in my bank'

 

'Because it's too impulsive! You barely know me – you've been to two of my fucking classes, this is absurd'

 

'I like you' Richie says simply.

 

'I like you too but this is madness'

 

'Eddie, I like you and I want to help you'

 

'No. No way. I'm not letting this happen - no fucking  _way._  Where did you even get the money from?!' Eddie says, incredulously. 

 

'I told you, it's inheritance' 

 

Eddie scoffs.

 

'And you're telling me you don't need to use ten thousand dollars yourself?'

 

'Something like that' Richie replies, flippantly.

 

A queue begins to form behind Richie. Eddie notices, and quickly scans the rest of Richie’s food.

 

‘Eddie –‘ Richie starts, grabbing the now full paper bag.

 

‘Don’t. Please, don’t. I really appreciate the offer, I really do. But – don’t. I can’t accept it.’

 

Eddie turns to serve the next customer. Richie walks away.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

i know u said i cant give u the money but what about if u set up a gofundme?

 

_@EKaspbrakYoga:_

I don’t think anyone would want to help me, I’m not a charity or anything

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

u’d be surprised

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

gofundme.com/causes/help+save+Eddie+spaghetti’s+yoga+studio

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

that’s really sweet of you, Rich, but I’m not going to hold my breath :-)

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

I !! forgot !! how cute !! ur !! emojis !! are !!

 

Eddie doesn’t reply immediately, so Richie closes twitter.

 

Richie almost immediately moves ten thousand dollars from his savings account into his current account. He stares at the money. He decides that it'd be best if he started funnelling the money in slowly, under loads of different names so Eddie doesn’t get suspicious. He wants to deposit it all in one go, but that'd definitely cause  

 

He deposits fifty dollars, under the name ‘John Doe’. Not five minutes after the payment has processed, his phone pings.

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

Richie !! someone actually donated !!

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

told ya!!!!!!!!!!

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

honestly, when you came in offering me all that money I could have vomited. 

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

offers still there my love

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

I can't Richie, you know that

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

y not?

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

it’s an absurd amount of money to give to someone you hardly know!

 

@ _bigrickdich:_

oh eds, I can easily fix that

_@EKaspbrakYoga:_

how?

_@bigrickdich:_

let me take you to dinner?

_@EKaspbrakYoga:_  

absolutely not

_@bigrickdich:_  

Jesus, Eddie. Way to let a guy down gently!

_@EKaspbrakYoga:_  

Shit no I meant let me take you out. you’ve just offered to lend me 10K Richie, it’s the least I can do. You’re such a shit !!

_@bigrickdich:_  

its a fucking date <3

_@EKaspbrakYoga:_  

yeah, it is x

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it. has. been. TWO MONTHS. 
> 
> Ooooooooops.
> 
> I have felt weirdly disconnected from this story, like I can't do it justice. I just didn't know what to do with it, so I've been sort of ignoring the fact that it exists.
> 
> but it's a really sunny day here and after doing some yoga myself I started jotting down some notes and then this happened!
> 
> I hope you liked it <3 lemme know what you liked and what you hated 
> 
> catch me on tumblr if ya like !! @thefutureisnotsobright
> 
> x


	4. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @EKaspbrakYoga:  
>  I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 7, ok? I’m going to come straight   
>  from the studio
> 
> @bigrickdich:  
>  Ofc! See you then my love xxxxx
> 
> @EKaspbrakYoga:  
>  You’re weird !!

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

         I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 7, ok? I’m going to come straight from the studio

 

_@bigrickdich:_

Ofc! See you then my love xxxxx

 

@ _EKaspbrakYoga:_

         You’re weird !!

 

A pillow smacked Richie in the face.

 

He spluttered indignantly, glaring at Beverly. She cackled at him, shielding her face with her arms. Richie didn’t bother sending the pillow careening through the air towards her, instead deciding that now, about three hours before he was supposed to meet Eddie at the Italian place a few minutes’ drive away, was the appropriate time to start freaking the fuck out about what the hell he was going to wear.

 

 Beverly was no help at all.

 

‘I still don’t understand what’s wrong with what you’re wearing right now’ she said, lying on Richie’s bed. She was flicking through the book he was currently reading, and making contemplative little hmms as she did.

 

Richie looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing his old sweatpants, the ones with a hole in the crotch the size of his fist, and an old sleep shirt with the main cast of The Simpsons on it.

 

‘Beverly Marsh, are you fuckin’ bonkers?!’

 

Bev sighed – an indulgent sigh but a sigh nonetheless – and hopped up off the bed.

 

‘Stand aside, wardrobe assistance has arrived’ she tittered, rooting through the pile of clothes that Richie had unceremoniously dumped on his bed.

 

‘This? Hmmm maybe not this… what about this? Yes! This shirt … these pants? No… not these pants. THESE pants!’

 

Beverly was holding up a pair of black skinny jeans that looked like they wouldn’t fit anyone over the age of six.

 

‘I’m pretty sure those are yours, Bev’

 

‘Yeah, they are you klepto. You look good in them, though. Wear them with that shirt you bought last week. He’ll fuckin’ _die_ when he sees you’

 

* * *

 

 

The drive to the restaurant was uneventful. Richie was wearing the boots with the metal Cuban heel he’d bought in the thrift shop that Bev volunteers at when he was drunk, and she’d thrown them at him with an excited squeal. The metal clinked against the pedals rhythmically as he tapped out the beat of the song he was listening to.

 

_Hey baby, oh my baby, my pretty baby_ _  
Move the way you're doin' now_

Eddie was already in the parking lot when Richie hauled his jeep into park. He was leaning against the door of a pretty old looking Nissan, with scrapes and dents littering the side. Eddie was looking intently at his phone, scrolling determinedly. Eventually, Eddie glanced up at the jeep that had pulled in next to him, and a grin split his face.

 

‘Sweet ride, Rich!’

 

‘Eh, it ain’t nothin’ special. The old girl does her job’

 

‘She ain’t that old! Your plate means that she’s only two. She’s pretty gorgeous’ Eddie said, almost in awe as he circled the jeep.

 

‘You a petrol-head then, Eds? Didn’t peg you for the type’

 

Eddie smiled bashfully.

 

‘I guess so? I used to tinker around a bit when I was growing up, my best friend’s dad owned a garage to he used to let me loose on the cars sometimes. Thought I’d train as a mechanic, but can you imagine me in overalls, covered in grease, surrounded by big burly macho men?’

 

Richie blinked.

 

‘Abso-fuckin’-lutely, yowza what an image’

 

‘… You perv!’ Eddie laughed, but if Richie was being honest it was more like a giggle.

 

They made their way into the restaurant eventually, and Richie gave his name to the friendly looking waiter who led them to a booth on the periphery of the room. The booth had a plush, velvet couch, with two pillar candles suspended in a small candelabra in the centre the table, flickering gently.

 

‘That ain’t nothin’ but a fire hazard, Eds’ Richie warned as Eddie scooted into the booth, barely missing the candelabra with his elbow.

 

‘Well, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I am a fire starter, a twisted fire starter!’ Eddie half-sung, in what Richie supposes was intended to be a British accent. It certainly did not sound British.

 

‘Did you just sing The Prodigy at me?’ Richie asked, dumbfounded.

 

Eddie blushed.

 

‘Maybe?’

 

‘You’re full of fuckin’ surprises, Jesus Christ’ Richie mumbled, resting his head on his hand. He could feel himself looking at Eddie with the kind of pathetic, love-sickness usually reserved for teenagers, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

They ordered the same thing, which made the waiter coo at them resulting in Eddie’s face going the same colour as the bolognaise sauce they were about to eat.

 

The conversation flowed like wine, and Richie couldn’t help but bring up the studio.

 

‘What are ya’ gonna do about it?’

 

‘I have no idea, Rich. Like I said, the place pretty much haemorrhages money. It’s not even that I don’t get enough clients or anything, it’s just that the mortgage rates are crippling, and I have to pay Mike’s wages’

 

‘Could you not let Mike go?’ Richie asks, tentatively.

 

‘Absolutely not’ Eddie replies, jaw set firmly.

 

‘I could never let Mike go. He’s – He’s like family to me. And he has his own family, I couldn’t do that to him’

 

Eddie’s voice was shaking violently, and it made Richie’s stomach tense painfully.

 

‘No, no, I totally understand. It’s amazing, it’s – you’re amazing, Eddie’

 

Eddie hid his face in his hands, groaning slightly.

 

‘Stop it, Rich’

 

‘Stop what?’

 

‘Complimenting me – I can’t take it. Can we just talk about how my whole life is buried six inches under water right now, instead?’

 

‘I guess’ Richie replies with a wink. ‘How often are you there? You give yourself a break and go home sometimes, right?’

 

Eddie avoids his eyes.

 

‘Eddie?’ Richie pushes.

 

‘Um…’

 

Richie stares at him, eyes belligerent.

 

‘You’re fucking kidding me’

 

‘I can’t afford the rent on a separate apartment and the mortage on the studio at the moment. It just made sense to let the apartment go. The office is – it’s comfy? Sort of?’ Eddie tries.

 

‘Stay with me’

 

‘Jesus Christ, Richie. Stop trying to save me’ Eddie answers, the ghost of anger on his tongue.

 

‘I’m not trying to save you, Eddie. You’re staying in your studio which is fuckin’ _flooded._ I’ve been in your office, you know. When I fucked my nose up. I know there’s no bed in there, so you gotta be sleeping on the floor, am I right?’

 

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

 

‘Am I right, Eddie?’

 

‘Fine! Fine, your right’ Eddie snaps in response.

 

‘Eddie, please. Stay with me. I can only offer you my couch because Bev rents the other room from me, but it’s a damn comfy couch’

 

‘What do you mean, she rents the other room from you?’

 

‘Don’t change the subject, Eds. Please stay with me, I can’t bare the thought of you all curled up on the floor in that damn office. It’ll make me cry. Do you want to make me cry, Eddie?’ Richie says, aiming for pure, unadulterated manipulation.

 

‘… no’ Eddie says, after a pregnant pause. ‘But, Bev. What if Bev cares?’

 

Richie sighs.

 

 ‘Okay so one, Miss Marsh loves you and two, even if she didn’t, she’s not cruel enough to make you sleep in your damn office, Eddie, holy shit. She’d probably be offended you’d think that of her’

 

‘I don’t know Richie’ Eddie mumbles, twisting his hands.

 

‘You know what – fine, hang on, lemme just’

 

Richie roots around in his pocket, trying to pull his phone out. Once his fingers have a firm grasp around it, he whips it out with a flourish – a knight brandishing a sword to a damsel in distress. Richie was going to make damn sure he slays the dragon for Eddie if it’s the last thing he does.

 

Richie dials, and Eddie waits.

 

‘ _Hello?’_ came Bev’s voice, floating out of the tiny speakers. Richie had put the phone on speaker.

 

‘Hey, babe. Eddie is living in his office’

 

‘ _back up, back up. What? His office? I thought the studio was flooded?’_

 

‘It is’

 

‘ _Why is he living in his office?’_

‘Money problems’

 

‘ _Ah. Can’t he just stay with us?’_

‘I TOLD YOU!’ Richie hollered, loud enough to make Eddie jump.

 

‘ _Yeah, he can have my bed tonight. I’m gonna be with Ben. I’ll change my sheets! Love ya bye’_

 

Bev hung up. Richie slid the phone back into his pockets, victorious. He hadn’t really been looking at Eddie, choosing to stare at the phone instead, as if he could force Bev to say the right thing through sheer brain power. So now, when he looks up and sees Eddie’s eyes shining with moisture, he’s slightly taken aback.

 

‘Thank you’ Eddie mumbles, voice no louder than a whisper. Intimate. Something for Richie, and no-one else.

 

Richie toys with making a joke, something to lighten the mood, but something in Eddie’s face stops him, the humbled way that Eddie is looking at him turns his words to smoke in his lungs.

 

* * *

 

 They both agree to go to Eddie’s studio to pick up the few possessions that he keeps there. Richie follows Eddie’s beaten up old Nissan all the way there without turning on his radio. He doesn’t want to interrupt the silence.

 

Eddie unlocks the door, and leads Richie into the reception. It looks normal.

 

‘Is there no water damage in here?’ Richie asks, curious, eliciting a pained groan from Eddie, who scrubs at his face violently with his hands.

 

‘No, it’s okay in here. The bikram studio is the flooded room. You can go see it if you want, you know where it is’ Eddie says over his shoulder, before he disappears into his office.

 

Richie takes the invitation, and pushes the studio door open. There is some resistance when he tries, like tiny hands are pushing the door from the other side. Eventually, after engaging his biceps in a battle against the water, the door creaks open. It’s worse than Richie could have imagined. The floor is six inches under water. Water pools under his feet, rushing out into the corridor. The room smells musty, and exactly like he’d imagined stagnant water to smell.  Yoga mats float pitifully on the water, like lily pads.

 

After staring at the wreckage for as long as he deems necessary, Richie decides to go and find Eddie. He finds him curled over a filing cabinet.

 

‘I fucking ruined it, Richie’ Eddie mutters, sensing Richie’s presence behind him.

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

‘It’s just all ruined. I moved here and took out all those fucking bank loans and all because I wanted this so badly, I wanted this to _work_ and it’s just gone so WRONG’

 

Richie knows he’s crying now. Eddie’s words come tumbling out of his mouth, all spluttery and wet. Richie steps over to him, and starts to rub small circles on his back.

‘It’s not your fault, Eddie. I bet this could have happened to anyone. It’s not your fault’

 

Richie must have said the wrong thing, because Eddie shoves past him.

 

‘No, it’s my fucking fault, I should have kept an eye on the boiler health, I should have –‘ Eddie’s voice grows quieter and quieter as he marches away, down the corridor, and back towards the flooded studio. He’s still talking when he marches through the door into the flooded room, so Richie scrambles after him.

 

When he walks into the studio, he finds that Eddie has dropped to his knees, as if in worship.

 

‘Look at it, Richie, look at this fucking water and tell me how I am supposed to sort this out? What the hell do I do?’

 

Richie doesn’t know what to say, but he does know what to do.

 

He drops to his knees next to Eddie, jeans immediately soaking up what feels like metric tonnes of water, and pulls Eddie into a hug. He tries to draw all of the sadness and frustration out of the man in his arms, absorb it into his own skin through osmosis. They crouch there, becoming damper by the second, until Eddie’s no longer wheezing and Richie is no longer cold.

 

* * *

 

 

When Richie leads Eddie into his apartment he’s uncharacteristically nervous, but Eddie renders these nerves pointless when he flops unceremoniously onto the couch. Richie busies himself in the kitchen, making cups of tea and warm toast with lashings of butter, but by the time he brings his offerings over to Eddie, he finds the other man asleep.

 

Richie doesn’t want to leave Eddie on the couch, so he gathers him up in his arms as best he can, before taking slow, tentative steps towards Bev’s room, trying to beam ‘please do not wake up, please do not wake up’ signals straight into Eddie’s unconscious brain. It seems to work, as Richie manages to place Eddie gently down on top of Bev’s duvet.

 

With one last glance sent over his shoulder at the slumbering Eddie, Richie disappears into his room and drops into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

When Richie wakes up, it’s with a clear mind and with the slow realisation that Eddie is currently somewhere in his apartment. With a glance at his phone, and the realisation that it’s somehow 10am, Richie pads out into the living room, where he’s met with Eddie doing yoga.

 

Specifically, he’s met with the sight of Eddie’s neck. Richie recognises the pose – it’s camel pose. Eddie’s neck is stretched backwards, exposing his jugular. Richie wonders what sound Eddie would make if he bit down on it. Richie tears his gaze away from Eddie’s exposed neck, scanning across the rest of his body. Eddie is not wearing a shirt, but he is wearing some sweatpants with ‘juicy’ written across the arse. Richie recognises them. They’re Bev’s. She called them her best thrift find ever, and whilst she initially started wearing them ironically, they’ve become quite the staple in her wardrobe.

 

‘Nice pants, Kaspbrak’

 

Eddie’s balance doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t open his closed eyes. He stays in camel pose, and Richie watches his Adam’s apple strain against the taught skin of his throat. Richie starts to sweat.

 

‘Good morning, Richie’

 

‘G’morning, teach. Sleep well?’

 

‘Like a baby’ comes Eddie’s pleased response. Richie watches as Eddie unfurls his body slowly, before flowing forwards into child’s pose. The muscles in his back ripple. Richie feels like he’s going to faint.

 

‘Fancy a private lesson?’

 

Richie has to sit down.

 

‘Sure’ he manages to croak out from where he’s all but collapsed on the floor.

 

Eddie leads Richie through a sun salutation. Eddie tells Richie to close his eyes, but Richie disobeys, choosing instead to watch the fluid lines of Eddie’s body shift and flow.

 

As Eddie’s yoga sessions always do, they end up lying next to each other in shavasana. They’re close enough for their fingertips to be brushing. Richie swears he can feel flames engulf his skin at the prospect. Eddie had, once again, told Richie to close his eyes. Richie was, once again, disobeying. He couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at Eddie’s face.

 

The third time he peaks, he’s met with Eddie’s own eyes staring back at him. Richie rolls over, so that he’s lying on his side, and waits.

 

Eddie does the same.

 

They’re lying parallel to each other, parallel lines destined never to meet, never to touch. Unless Richie moves his face slightly. So he does. Richie moves his face, juts his chin forward, so that his nose rubs lightly against Eddie’s. They share the same air, breathing in each other’s exhaled breaths, until Richie’s head is spinning. Eddie smiles at him, this tiny, unguarded smile, that sends a jolt straight to Richie’s heart. Richie’s eyes flick to Eddie’s lips, lips that are coming closer, impossibly closer, before –

 

‘HELLO, BOYS!’

 

Richie leaps backwards.

 

Eddie looks almost hurt, before he carefully schools his face into a grin that looks plastic and artificial on his face.

 

‘Oh shit, did I interrupt something?’ Bev says from the doorway, backing away with her palms raised up in surrender.

 

‘Oh no, I was just giving Richie a free session to pay him back for letting me stay here’ comes Eddie’s careful reply.

 

‘Ohhhh shit I could do with one of those, my back is killing me!’

 

Eddie graciously agrees, and starts leading Bev through a series of complicated looking back bends. Richie watches them for a while, perched on the edge of the couch, before Bev’s back makes a violent crunching sound, and she moans loudly. Richie excuses himself, and retreats quickly to his bedroom.

 

He opens up the gofundme page that he’d set up for Eddie’s studio, sending another 20 dollars under the name Stella Bainton. No one else had donated since John Doe. Richie smiles to himself.

 

When he goes back into the living room, after making sure to delete his internet history, Eddie and Bev are sprawled on the couch, watching cartoons. Eddie smiles up at him, and tugs on his arm.

 

‘C’mon chee, we’re watching cartoons!’

 

Richie’s heart misses a beat at the use of the nickname. Intimate.

 

‘I can see that’ he laughs after his heart regains its normal rhythm, but the words do not flow as freely from his mouth as they usually do.

 

It takes two hours for Bev to fall asleep. They’re squashed together on the two-seater couch, Eddie’s head resting lightly on Richie’s chest, with Bev’s legs lying across them both, squashing them closer together.

 

Eddie glances up at Richie with a panicked look on his face, and Richie stills, scenarios flashing through his head like lightning, but all Eddie says is,

 

‘Rich, I really need to pee but I’m _STUCK’_ in such a forlorn way that Richie cannot help but burst out laughing, which causes Bev to wake up with a snort-snore.

 

That sets them all off,  and they all howl with laughter until Eddie scrambles to his feet and sprints off to the bathroom yelling ‘I’m gonna pee myself oh my god I’m gonna pee myself’

 

Bev and Richie laugh even more at that.

 

Eventually, when they’ve calmed down, Bev slings her arm around Richie’s shoulder.

 

‘He’s sweet, isn’t he’

 

It’s not a question.

 

‘Yeah, he really really is. Sweet as sugar, our Eds’

 

‘And you like him?’

 

‘Uh.. I’m fuckin’ human, Marsh. He’s beautiful but he doesn’t really know _how_ beautiful, and he’s funny in a ridiculous, dorky way and –‘

 

‘All right, Rich, Jesus. You don’t need to list all the reasons that make you wanna jump his bones’  

 

Richie swats at her arm.

 

‘I don’t know if he likes guys though, that’s the real stickler to my grand plan to woo Eddie Kaspbrak, the yoga man’ Richie rhymes.

 

Bev snorts, ‘Jesus Tozier, don’t you have a functioning gaydar?’

 

‘Now now, Miz Marsh, let’s not go stereotyping, shall we?’

 

Now it’s Bev’s turn to swat at Richie. At that moment, Eddie walks back into the room. He smiles down at Richie.

 

‘What’ve I missed?’ he says around his smile the size of the sun.

 

Richie looks up at him, blinded.

 

‘Oh, nothing really’ Richie replies, and Eddie nods, satisfied with the answer.

 

‘ _I’m fucked’_ Richie whispers in Bev’s ear.

 

‘Yup’ she replies, gleefully.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter !! I've ignored this story for two months but I planned this chapter out immediately after I posted the last one a few days ago so I'm feeling like I have a much better idea about where I want this story to go.
> 
> I hope you liked it !! Apparently I can't write anything that doesn't have a slither of angst, but this story really won't be as angsty as Sugar, Honey, Honey, or Unpack My Heart With Words I guarantee. 
> 
> This chapter was SUPER dialogue heavy? I'm not sure if I like this style of writing, but it happened. I don't know if the subsequent chapters will be quite this wordy !!
> 
> Catch me on tumblr; @thefutureisnotsobright
> 
> lemme know what you liked and what you hated <3


	5. Who The Fuck Is Josephine Snow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO:  
> please google plow pose before you read this. Otherwise the smut might be .... far too confusing.
> 
> Plow pose looks like [THIS](https://www.google.com/search?q=plow+pose&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjzzunIoLjjAhWLa8AKHerYDAcQ_AUIECgB&biw=1440&bih=766)

 Eddie Kaspbrak first realised he was double jointed when he was six years old. He had been playing on the swings, soaring towards the sky at what felt like the speed of light, when he felt a strong hand wrap around his wrist, and tug. Hard. Eddie’s body flew through the air, still attached to the strong hand, and he’d landed in a crumpled heap at the feet of Henry Bowers, Derry’s resident obnoxious shithead. Where any other person’s arm may have broken, considering the fact that Eddie’s shoulder socket was now facing entirely the wrong direction, six year old Eddie Kaspbrak was able to just … twist it back into place.

 

Hypermobile. That’s what the doctor had called it, when he’d been rushed straight to the emergency department by his hysterical mother.

 

“It doesn’t even hurt, Mom! Look! I can twist it like this, and like this and even like _this_ ”

 

Sonia had just screamed, long, loud and piercing, before shoving Eddie in the direction of the hospital entrance.

 

Eddie had drifted towards yoga like iron filings towards a magnet. He’d taken his first class as an elective in gym in his sophomore year of high school, and was immediately addicted to the way his muscles strained under his own weight, and the way his mind could drift in and out of attention, the only constant being the rhythmic puffs of breath echoing around the airy room.

 

His mother had laughed in his face when he’d told her he’d taken out a bank loan for his own studio.

 

“Eddie, there’s no money in _that!_ No future! What happened to your dream of becoming a chartered surveyor?”

 

Eddie sighed, for the fiftieth time that night.

 

“Those were your dreams, mother. I don’t know a single person on the planet that dreams of becoming a _chartered surveyor.”_

“Even so, dreams die, Eddie-bear. You need to get yourself a nice, stable job so you can provide for your future wife and family! Not prance about in those ridiculous shorts of yours. What kind of girl do you think you’ll attract looking like … well looking like _that?”_ Sonia barked incredulously, gesturing to her son who was standing before her, with his arms crossed.

 

Eddie looked down at himself. He was wearing a long-sleeved dark blue Under Armour shirt, with black shorts and his running shoes. The shorts weren’t even the shortest ones he owned.

 

“Mother. The bank has already approved my loan, this is happening whether –“

 

“But, Eddie-Bear! I don’t _want_ you to do this!”

 

With his mother’s voice getting more and more shrill each second, like a kettle threatening to boil over and scold your hand, Eddie did something he’d never had the courage to do before.

 

He walked out of his mother’s house, and he didn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

It takes a week of living in the same space for something to give.

 

After spending the evening coiled around each other on the couch watching old re-runs of Hell’s Kitchen, Richie sits up and yawns in the sort of way that people do in movies. Exaggerated, entirely false and hinting at … _something._

 

Eddie’s heart sped up.

 

“Okay, Eds, I think I’m gonna, y’know, hit the sack” Richie yawned, cracking his back as he stretched.

 

“Oh, okay, Rich. Sleep tight” Eddie replied.

 

Neither of them moved.

 

The game had begun.

 

“Sooo….” Richie drawled, edging closer to Eddie, walking his fingertips over the back of the couch, until his arm was entirely around Eddie’s shoulders.

 

“So?” Eddie challenged, raising an eyebrow.

 

“D’ya wanna … y’know…. My room?”

 

“You’re not quite bendy enough yet”

 

Richie pulled his arm from around Eddie, and clutched at his heart in a picture of faux-despair.

 

“You wound me, Edward.”

 

“Just wanna make sure you can keep up with me, _Richard._ It could get –“ Eddie shifted closer to Richie, so he could whisper the last few words directly into his ear. “It could get kinda _dangerous_ otherwise”

 

At that, Richie groaned and rolled his eyes, pulling himself away from Eddie and onto his feet.

 

“You’re going to kill me, you know”

 

“I know” Eddie chirped, half-happy with his ability to – without fail – reduce Richie to a red-faced mess every night, but also half-frustrated.

 

They’d been playing this game for six nights now. Six nights in a row Richie had invited Eddie into his room, into his bed, and six nights in a row Eddie had shot him down. He hadn’t _wanted_ to shoot him down, not even on the first night. But Eddie was scared. Well, not _scared,_ just cautious. He wanted to test the water. To decide whether this was all a game to Richie, the sort of game where flirting and lingering eyes are fine, but going any further is not.

 

Eddie watches Richie shuffle into the bedroom, hands cupped over his crotch, and doesn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

An oppressive heat smacks Eddie in the face as soon as he steps into the apartment.

 

The apartment is boiling with the rage of a thousand suns, and Eddie is sure that a radiator must have burst, or that Richie accidentally left the oven on. Before he could get into the boiler cupboard to check though, something caught his eye.

 

A very-nearly-naked Richie lay on the floor in front of the sofa, and Eddie watched as he pushed upwards, so that his hips were supported by his hands, elbows bracketed on either side of his torso, and lifted his legs into the air, and placing his feet either side of his head, legs slightly bent and apart. Plow pose. Eddie recognised it immediately. It was a pretty janky plow, but it was _definitely_ a plow.

 

Eddie knew that Richie knew that he was there, but he didn’t say anything, just watched as Richie’s arms shook slightly with the weight, and beads of sweat dripped off his legs and onto the yoga mat. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and by all accounts Eddie supposed he should look a bit ridiculous, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to lick the sweat that was pooled in Richie’s bellybutton.

 

“I don’t think I can get my legs quite far enough behind my head, Eds” Richie grunted, breaking the spell.

 

“Ah – _fuck_ – No, I – You’re doing just fine, Rich” Eddie mumbled, eyes still fixed on the long lines of Richie’s seemingly endless thighs.

 

“No, I really do think I need some… _help,_ Eddie, If you – eh-hem. If you catch my drift”

 

_Oh._

 

Before he could even really register what he was doing, his body working on autopilot, Eddie had shed his coat, and shirt quicker than a blink. He practically ran over to where Richie was contorted on the floor, and, dropping to his knees so hard he was sure they’d be bright red or bruised tomorrow, pushed himself up against Richie’s back-end so that his rapidly hardening dick was pressed against Richie’s ass. He leant forward slightly, grabbing Richie’s upper thighs with both hands.

 

Richie stared up at him, eyes wide. Beads of sweat were forming on and dripping down his forehead, skating down his nose, the slopes of his cheek-bones and his lips, before dropping onto his chest.

 

“I haven’t even kissed you yet, Rich” Eddie murmured, just loud enough for Richie to hear.

 

“I mean… I can move if you wanna do this all nicey-nicey-kissy-kissy?” Richie laughed, shifting slightly as if he was about to drop the position entirely. Eddie tightened his grip on Richie’s thighs.

 

“Jesus Christ, I keep forgetting how strong you are for such a tiny little –“

 

A sharp thrust of Eddie’s jean-clad dick against Richie’s yoga-short covered ass dissolved Richie’s sentence into an unintelligible groan.

 

“Do you wanna?”

 

“What does it fuckin’ look like?”

 

“Consent is _important,_ Richie” Eddie spat out with gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

 

“Yes I fucking _wanna_ , now take of those jeans they’re too rough”

 

Eddie released his vice grip on Richie’s thighs, and stood up, eliciting a needy whine from Richie, who already looked entirely wrecked. His arms were shaking wildly, and his legs were practically touching the floor behind his head. Eddie grabbed Richie’s legs by the ankles, lifting them up so they were suspended in the air again.

 

“Keep these up okay, Rich? Nice and straight for me”

 

“Ain’t nothin’ straight about what we’re about to do” Richie cackled, causing his legs to shake even more.

 

“ _Richie”_ Eddie cautioned, voice low and thick like molasses.

 

Richie stopped laughing, and his legs stopped shaking. Eddie pulled Richie’s shorts down his legs and over his feet, and threw them over his shoulder, not caring where they’d land. He shucked off his jeans and underwear, and repositioned himself against Richie’s hips.

 

“This is hardly ethical of me, you know”

 

“What?” Richie panted.

 

“Sleeping with one of my students”

 

“I mean – I’m not technically a student of yours because of the whole … studio flooding thing, and even if I was I don’t _care_ about that and not to be rude or anything but can you hurry the fuck up? Not all of us have abs of steel, y’know”

 

They both laughed, but Richie’s laugh cut off into a strangled moan when Eddie bent down and began placing open mouthed kisses against the back of his thighs.

 

“Don’t let your legs drop, Rich. Keep them parallel to the ground …” Eddie murmured as he kissed his way along Richie’s legs,  shifting backwards slightly so he could reach Richie’s ass. He kissed down Richie’s taught cheeks, before parting them slightly to swipe his tongue over his hole. Just once.

 

Just once was enough to send Richie into near spasms beneath him.

 

“Fucking _hell,_ Eds”

 

“Ssshhh. Don’t let those legs drop”

 

“Don’t you want some lube or somethin’? I’ve got some here – always be prepared and all that shit” Richie babbled, shifting his grip on his hips.

 

“Naw, don’t need it” Eddie replied, before swiping his tongue over Richie’s hole for a second time.

 

Richie gasped underneath him as the firm point of Eddie’s tongue pushed into him. The gasps soon turned to nonsense babbling as Eddie’s tongue became more persistent, alternating between pushing into Richie and stopping to press hot, wet kisses onto Richie’s thighs. Eddie continued to tease Richie, pulling back only to probe in impossibly deeper, encouraging – commanding – him to open up beneath him, relishing in feeling Richie clench around his tongue.

 

“Fucking – _shit,_ Eddie – baby – fuck”

 

“Ssssshhh”

 

“Don’t you dare mention my fucking legs again or I’ll smack you”

 

“You couldn’t reach me even if you tried, my love”

 

With that, Eddie pulled off Richie entirely, and straightened up.

 

“Do you have a condom down there in your ever so presumptuous pile of lube?”

 

“I may do”

 

“Care to pass it to me?”

 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, my arms are a _little bit preoccupied right now”_ Richie bitched, causing Eddie to laugh. Eddie shifted, and stretched over to where the little silver packet was lying expectantly on the floor, next to a bottle of clear lube.

 

Eddie squirted a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers, before pushing two of them into Richie, scissoring them in such a way that the pad of one finger would occasionally graze against Richie’s prostate. Eddie got a sick thrill out of seeing Richie’s legs wildly shake in the air, before they stilled again. He could only imagine the strain on Richie’s face, maybe his tongue was caught between his teeth, maybe his eyes were clenched, in simultaneous strain and pleasure, maybe –

 

“Eddie, Eddie please – Eddie, I can’t _”_

 

Wordlessly, Eddie pulled his fingers out of Richie, but before Richie could make another one of those intoxicating, needy whines, he had rolled the lubed up condom onto his dick, and had pushed almost all the way into Richie.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, _oh my god_ ” Richie babbled, legs shaking more than ever as Eddie eased his way back, dragging his cock out of Richie just barely, _barely,_ before slamming back in and bottoming out, so that his hips were pressed flush against Richie’s back-end.

 

“Ughhh” Eddie moaned stupidly, eyes hazing over, hips moving as if possessed.

 

Richie was squirming beneath him, obviously struggling to hold himself upright. Eddie gripped his thighs tighter, surely tight enough to leave a mark, and pounded into Richie. He shifted his angle slightly on each thrust, adjusting his grip on Richie’s thighs so he was holding them open, until he hit a point inside Richie that caused him to cry out. Eddie drank down every moan, whimper and curse-word Richie was willing to give him.

 

It didn’t take long before Eddie’s measured thrusts became erratic, and before he could do anything about it, the bottom of his stomach erupted into a white hot heat, and he was coming into Richie’s ass with a shout.

 

When the blurry haze had cleared from his vision, Eddie dragged his cock out of Richie’s ass, eliciting a small hiss from Richie, before he grabbed Richie’s thighs, and flipped them down, so Richie was lying flat on his back.

 

“Oh thank _fuck”_ Richie moaned, but anything else he had to say was lost to the ether when Eddie swallowed his dick.

 

Richie’s hands found his hair, and Eddie flattened his tongue and sucked hard, using his hand around the base of Richie’s shaft, before removing his hand and swallowing Richie so deep that his nose was nestled in a thicket of coarse, black hair, and he could feel the blunt press of Richie’s dick against the back of his throat.

 

It only took two or three minutes before Richie was pulling frantically at Eddie’s hair with a, “ _I’m gonna come, fuck, Eds, Eds move, I’m gonna –“_ before Richie erupted in his mouth, and the familiar taste of salty-musky-wet was falling down the back of his throat.

 

Eddie sat back on his heels, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, catching a few stray droplets of cum that had escaped. Richie continued to lie flat on the floor, chest heaving, eyes closed, blissful smile plastered centre stage on his face.

 

* * *

 

Things change remarkably little after that. They kiss sometimes, they fuck often, but they still spring apart whenever Bev walks in.

 

They don’t hold hands when they go grab coffee, but they do sit coiled together on the couch in the evening when Bev is at Ben’s, whispering into each other’s ears and dropping soft kisses on each other’s necks.

Tonight is such a night. Bev has taken Ben ice-skating, and the image of Ben teetering around a rink on skates like bambi made Richie laugh so much he nearly threw up. They’re lying on the couch, Eddie’s legs draped over Richie’s lap, with Richie  scratching at his ankle. They’re watching Good Omens, and Eddie would be lying if he said he wouldn’t like to bend Crowley over a desk.

 

“They’ve gotta be fucking” Richie says, pulling Eddie out of his daydream.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Those two. They’ve _gotta_ be fucking”

 

“Really? They’re kinda different, y’know. Aziraphale just told Crowley to pretty much just … fuck off” Eddie muses.

 

“Yeah but that’s just like … foreplay. I bet there’s all kindsa filthy fan art online, grab my laptop, spaghetti?”

 

“Nope”

 

“Please?”

 

“Nope”

 

“Sorry, sorry, grab my laptop, _Edward?”_

 

“Certainly, _Dickchard”_

 

Eddie picks up the laptop from where it was resting on the floor, and opens the lid. He clicks on google chrome, and before he can get past the ‘Go’ in ‘Good Omens’, Eddie’s _gofundme_ campaign appears as the autofill. Without more than a passing thought about how cute it was that Richie was obviously following his campaign with interest, Eddie types in the rest of ‘-od Omens’ and thinks no more about it.

* * *

 

That is, until Richie has gone to bed early complaining of a headache, leaving Eddie sat on the couch watching some shitty hallmark movie on his own. Richie’s laptop is lying on the sofa, screen hibernating.

 

Eddie wiggles the mouse. On the screen is a rather beautiful, but rather graphic, fan art depiction of Aziraphale taking Crowley from behind. Eddie tilts his head, stares at the image for three seconds more, before he pulls the laptop closer.

 

Just typing a ‘G’ into google is enough for it to take him straight to the campaign page for his yoga studio. The total is an obscene 3 thousand dollars now, from 12 different people. He glances through the donation list, and notices that the highest donor is a woman called ‘Josephine Snow’. When he clicks on her account, he notices that she hasn’t donated to any other campaigns. Weird.

 

Something in the corner of the page catches his eye.

 

_Welcome, Josephine!_

 

Weird.

 

Eddie clicks on the link.

 

_Welcome to your GoFundMe dashboard, Josephine Snow! What would you like to do?_

 

Weird.

 

“Who the fuck is Josephine Snow?” Eddie asks the empty air.

With his heart in his mouth, Eddie closes the laptop lid and scrambles blindly for the remote. He switches the TV off, and only darkness remains.

 

The irrational part of his brain immediately decides that Josephine Snow is Richie’s secret girlfriend and they must both be laughing at him behind his back.

 

The rational part of his brain decides that maybe it could be Bev donating under a pseudonym, because she doesn’t want to make donating such a large amount of money make things awkward between them, or …

 

Eddie grabs the laptop, and storms into Richie’s bedroom. Without turning on the light, he throws the laptop onto Richie’s stomach and crosses his arms.

 

“What the fuck have you been doing?”

 

* * *

 

Richie wakes up when something heavy lands on his oesophagus, confused and bleary eyed he sits up and Is confronted with a very angry looking Eddie.

 

“What the fuck have you been doing?” Eddie spits, venom dripping from his mouth.

 

“What? What the fuck? What’s goin’ on?”

 

“Who the fuck is _Josephine Snow?”_ Eddie sneers, practically bristling.

 

Richie sits up, panic bubbling up in his chest, threatening to burst out Ridley Scott style.

 

“Listen, Eds, baby, I can explain –“

 

“Don’t you fucking _Eds, Baby_ me, Richie. What the fuck is going on?”

 

Richie swings his legs out of bed, so he’s sat on the edge. He takes a deep breath, and holds it.

 

“Josephine Snow is me”

 

“I fucking guessed that didn’t I, genius. Why did you donate money to my campaign under a false name?”

 

“You said you wouldn’t take money from me so I had to … improvise” Richie tries, shuffling closer to Eddie, who takes a step back.

 

Eddie stood in silence, fists clenched by his sides, for a minute that felt like one thousand.

“Well,” he finally says, “I suppose you have only made one donation and I can give that money straight back to you when the campaign closes I guess … I just wish you would have done this like a normal person and not some weird attempt at espionage”

It only takes one second, one tiny shift in Richie’s expression for Eddie’s face to contort into abject horror.

 

“You have only done this once, right?”

 

“Um… Eddie, please, listen to me –“

 

“How many fucking times have you done this, Richard?”

 

Richie groans, before standing up and crowding Eddie against the wall. Eddie ducks under his arm to escape.

 

“I really don’t see why it matters where the money comes from, as long as it comes from _somewhere”_ Richie tries, but he’s met with a demonic howl that sounds like it was ripped straight from the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

 

“Are any of those donations real? Did any of that three-fucking-thousand dollars come from anyone that isn’t you?”

 

“… No”

 

The room is spinning. Richie feels nauseous. His glasses are still on his bedside table, so Eddie is nothing but an angry blur, but it’s probably better like this.

 

“How do you have so much money, anyway?”

 

“Uh, that’s kinda a funny story. See, my mother ran a tech start up that kinda …. Took off in the late 90s. She’s CEO of one of those big firms that makes smart phones and shit”

 

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

 

“So I kinda … have this allowance”

 

“Of course, like any other 26 year old does. Presumably this is in addition to the allowance that Bev pays you every month, because I’m assuming your mother bought you this apartment?”

 

Richie can feel his face bloom red.

 

“Oh for fucks sake, what now?”

 

“I kinda… own this building”

 

“You own this building” Eddie deadpans.

 

“Yeah… I kinda do”

“So, lemme get this straight, you decided to throw money at someone you barely know, someone you view as a little charity case, _oh I must help Edward! This tiny pathetic little man who can’t afford to pay the crippling mortage on his bank loan to pay for his yoga studio! I’ve only known him five minutes but that’s fine!_ _I’ll give him ten thousand dollars like it’s nOTHING”_ Eddie’s voice cracks painfully on the last word, and it takes every ounce of self-control Richie has not to rush over and collect the smaller man in his arms.

 

 

“Eddie, Jesus Christ, that isn’t how it is at all. I just – this is fucking pocket change to me, I just wanted to –“

 

“Oh my god. I cannot believe you just said that to me. Pocket change! My whole entire fucking world is … pocket change to you. Cancel the fucking _gofundme_ campaign Richie. Close it. Immediately.”

 

“No”

 

Eddie turns on his heels, barges past Richie, and walks out of his bedroom.

 

Richie chases Eddie, but by the time he manages to grab his glasses, the front-door to the apartment slams and Eddie has gone.

 

* * *

 

 

When Bev arrives home the next morning, full of hilarious stories involving Ben and Ice to tell Richie, she finds her roommate crumpled in a heap on his bedroom floor.

 

“What the hell happened in here?”

 

“Oh Miss Marsh, I done fucked it” Richie wails, before he explains everything to Bev, about how he’s been putting money into the gofundme under pseudonyms because he was so desperate to see Eddie happy again.

 

“Oh Richie, you fucking moron”

 

“I just wanted to _help,_ Bev. How could he not see that?”

 

After a beat, Bev challenges him with “You realise Eddie has pride, right?”

 

“huh?”

 

“You don’t get it do you, you spoilt brat” she says mostly affectionately, but also a bit like she’s telling off a small child. “Eddie has worked his entire adult life to get where he is, he’s sweated and grafted and put in so much damn work to get even a crumb of a hostile industry, and you just swan in, click your fingers, and magically have all that money”

 

“But – I wasn’t showing off, I was trying to help! I –“

 

“I know you were, babe. I know. You’re generous to a fault, sometimes. But you have to remember that most people aren’t in a position to be as generous as you, and sometimes it can be really uncomfortable. Not for me, obviously, if you wanna give me 10 grand you are absolutely more than welcome, but Eddie is proud. He’s worked damn hard and you’ve sort of just … shat all over him with your mega bucks”

 

Richie looks at Bev, closes his eyes and says “I’ll cancel the gofundme”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ’Tis I! The miscreant who has ignored this story for …. Three months. Far too long.
> 
>  
> 
> I’m back with nearly 4K words and a hope in my heart that you haven’t all forgotten about me.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter contains some sex in a … frankly quite ridiculous position so the rating has been bumped up to mature.
> 
>  
> 
> Also I am majorly grateful to tinyarmedtrex who read my smut and gave me some pointers. Thank u so much!!!<3
> 
> I hope you liked it! Come chat to me @ queen-sock on tumblr if you wanna. x


	6. I really wasn't seeing all the things that I should see

Richie does not cancel the _gofundme._

 

The day after the argument with Eddie is miserable. Richie comes out of his room in the morning, sleepy-eyed and heavy-boned, and is not greeted with Eddie’s sleeping form curled up on the sofa. There are only discarded throw pillows in the spot he used to occupy. Richie toys with the idea of texting Eddie, but he can’t bring himself to type anything into the empty text box. He opens and closes the _gofundme_ campaign approximately nineteen times an hour, staring at Eddie’s smiling face in the campaign banner. The smile that Richie had gotten so used to encountering in his kitchen whilst Eddie was making protein pancakes, in the supermarket doing their joint shop, or on the couch in the evening, the sun in Eddie’s smile dazzling Richie as it’s reflected back at him.

 

Two weeks pass sluggishly, and Richie spends them on autopilot. He opens and closes Eddie’s campaign obsessively whilst he’s at work, finger hovering over the “ ** _close campaign”_** button but never quite being able to convince himself to press it.

  


**_Close Campaign. Are you sure?_ **

****

_No_

**_Close Campaign. Are you sure?_ **

****

_No_

**_Close Campaign. Are you sure?_ **

****

_No_

 

The campaign ends exactly sixteen days after Richie last saw Eddie, and exactly sixteen minutes since Richie thought of Eddie last. He’s drunk, having raided Bev’s collection of vintage reds, and his laptop is balanced on his chest as he slumps down into the sofa crease.

  


**_Close Campaign. Are you sure?_ **

****

_No_

 

_Current Progress: $3,400 out of $10,000_

**Thank you for your donation of $6,600, Richard Tozier!**

 

_Current Progress: $10,000 out of $10,000._

Richie falls asleep on the sofa, credit card to his left, and laptop to his right.

 

* * *

 

Richie wakes up when something plastic and hard hits him on the head. He cracks open one eye, glares the TV remote that was now lying on the floor next to his head, and closes it again.

 

“Oh my god, you stink”

 

“Huhh, whazzit?”

 

“Richie!”

 

“Mmm’Bev?”

 

“You fucking _reek!_  And you spilt wine all over the damn carpet”

 

Opening his eyes, Richie is confronted with an amused looking Beverly, who’s standing over him with a nearly empty bottle of wine in one hand, and his laptop in the other.

 

His laptop.

 

Vague memories of scrambling for his credit card come floating back into Richie’s mind like smoke signals, but they’re too vague to read.

 

He pulls his leaden body off the couch, immediately wincing as the familiar pain of dehydration and excessive alcohol consumption seizes his brain.

 

“You got white girl wasted last night, then?”

 

“I guess I did” Richie mumbles, rubbing his pounding head. His stomach churns angrily as nondescript foody smells waft into the sitting room from the kitchen.

 

Beverly places the laptop down next to him, and Richie glares at it accusingly. He knows that he did something on his laptop last night. Something important. Something that he remembers thinking would piss someone off.

 

Someone.

 

 _Eddie_.

 

The name knocks all of the air out of Richie’s lungs.

 

Richie knows that he did something last night, something that would piss Eddie off, and something that involved his credit card. Something that he had to pay for. Something _important._ The important something doesn’t reveal itself to him in the eight minutes it takes him to drag his aching body to the toilet and back to the couch, so Richie is left lying in a pathetic heap, watching Bev flit around the room simultaneously tidying it and accusing Richie of being a messy lightweight.

 

Three hours later, when Bev has gone to meet Ben, and he’s left alone with his melancholy, aching brain, Richie remembers. Richie remembers the mysterious important something and almost breaks his ankle in haste, as he vaults over the back of the couch and charges into the kitchen where his laptop was now charging. He boots it up, impatiently tapping a jarring rhythm on the counter-top, before opening up _gofundme._  The name at the top of the page sends his stomach twisting like a tempest.

 

_Welcome to your GoFundMe dashboard, Richard Tozier! What would you like to do?_

With a shaking hand, Richie clicks through the drop-down menu to his past donations.

 

_Recent donations:_

_$6600 to Help Save Eddie Spaghetti’s Yoga Studio_

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _FUCK!_ _”_ Richie babbled manically, as he stared at the laptop screen in horror. There it was, plain as the day and night and the moon and stars. He had not, in fact, obeyed Eddie’s demand and closed down the _gofundme_ campaign, and had instead, in a drunken haze, done the exact opposite. Clicking onto the main campaign page, Richie is met with two large, sparkling red words,

 

_CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!_

 

“oh fucking fuck fuck fuck”  


Richie shoves the laptop off his lap and it lands on the floor with a dull thud.

 

_CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!_

 

_CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!_

 

_CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!_

 

The words seem to leap off the screen, and beam straight through Richie’s ceiling and into the stratosphere for all to see.

 

 _CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!_  

 

Richie wonders whether Eddie has noticed that his bank account has inflated dramatically, or whether it would take a few days. Whether a cheque he was expecting to bounce wouldn’t bounce, and then he’d run to his bank, and they’d tell him, “Oh, Mr Kaspbrak, you have a very healthy bank account indeed!” and then Eddie would know that Richie had lied to him for the second time.

 

For a brief moment, Richie convinces himself that Eddie would be grateful, that he’d realise that Richie only wanted to help, and he’d show up at the apartment and fall into Richie’s arms like a goddamn storybook. When someone lands three short, sharp knocks on the front door of his apartment, this hope swells in his chest.

 

When Richie opens the door, idealistically preparing himself to see a smiling Eddie Kaspbrak standing before him, he sees … nothing.

 

Eddie is not standing on the threshold, but nor is anyone else. Something is _lying_ on the threshold, though. A bulging envelope stuffed to the brim lay on the floor outside Richie’s apartment, with “ ** _POCKET CHANGE_** _”_ written on it in thick, black marker pen. Richie bends down and picks the envelope up, and opens it, even though he already knows what’s inside.

 

Approximately one hundred hundred dollar bills stare back at him.

 

* * *

 

Much to his chagrin, Richie decides to give up waiting for Eddie to contact him. He half expected to receive a text from Eddie, telling him that he’d left something outside of Richie’s door, in case someone stole the money. He received no such text. He toyed with the idea of sending a groveling apology, or leaving an apologetic voicemail, but decided against it. He didn’t want to annoy Eddie even more than he already had. He didn’t stop thinking about Eddie, though. He thought about Eddie when he stretched every morning, a habit he’d gotten into when Eddie had been staying with him. He thought about Eddie when he used the charcoal toothpaste Eddie had left behind when he’d ran out of the apartment and never came back for his things. He thought about Eddie when he lay in bed at night, staring at the lacquered shadows that danced across his ceiling.

 

The next few months passed languidly, and Richie continued to pine.

 

* * *

 

During one of his scheduled morning pining sessions, Richie notices that Bev has started to act strangely. It’s little things, at first, like guarding her phone when she gets a text, or taking occasional phone calls outside the apartment where Richie can’t hear her conversation. This carries on for a week or two, before she starts acting _really_ strangely. She starts leaving the apartment at 6am at least four times a week, and Richie catches her a few times on his way to the bathroom. She always gives him the same excuses, that she’s meeting Ben for breakfast or that she’s going on a hike with Ben. Richie’s favourite of these excuses came at a time when he couldn’t sleep, so had decided to make himself some tea instead of staring aimlessly at his ceiling all night. He hadn’t bothered to turn the light on, and so when Bev had crept past the kitchen and Richie had coughed to announce his presence, she had practically jumped out of her skin.

 

“Jesus! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, Rich”

 

“You’re up mighty early, Miss Marsh”

 

“Uh, yeah. Ben and I – We’re going … to the movies. Yes. The movies. There’s a really early showing of some dumb romcom that Ben wants to see so … we are going … to the movies to see it. Bye!”  


 Before Richie could challenge her further, Bev had skipped out of the apartment.

 

Lies.

 

From the time he had accidentally woken Ben up at 5am when he had crashed through the apartment after a particularly heavy night, Richie had been acutely aware of the fact that Ben Hanscom does _not_ wake up before 7:30am for _anyone._ Not even Bev, and _especially_ not for a hike, or to go and see a movie. Before he can give it too much thought, or convince himself that it was a terrible idea, Richie decides to follow Bev and find out what she was really doing. He jams his feet in his sneakers, pulls on the first jacket he finds on the hook, and charges down the stairs.

 

It turns out it’s remarkably easy to follow someone. All he has to do is hang back several feet from Bev, who is speed walking through the streets at a pace that Richie can barely keep up with. They’re walking in the opposite direction to Ben’s apartment, and when Bev takes a sudden turn left, Richie is surprised to find that she’s led him to a somewhat dodgy part of town that they don’t normally venture to if they can help it. Several blocks later, Bev disappears into a run-down looking building on the corner the street. After a few seconds, Richie walks up to one of the windows, hoping to surreptitiously peer inside but he is distracted by a piece of paper he sees sellotaped in the window.

 

_Yoga Studio._

Huh.

 

The obvious conclusion is that Bev has found a new yoga studio; a replacement for Eddie’s submerged place. However, that doesn’t explain why Bev didn’t just _tell_ him that she had found a new studio, and had instead chosen to concoct all of these lies. Growing more curious by the second, Richie pushed the door open, and was greeted by …

 

Mike.

 

Eddie’s Mike, the Mike from Eddie’s studio, was standing behind a small front desk.

 

 “Hiya, Rich! Are you here for a session?”

 

“…Mike?”

 

“That’s me! Are you here for the 6:45 class?”

 

“Uh… yes?” Richie replied dumbly, before digging a crumpled 10 dollar bill out of his pocket and handing it over to a very smiley Mike.

 

“Do you have a mat or do you need to borrow one?” Mike asks, kindly, gesturing to the stack of rental mats on the shelf behind the front desk.

 

“I – I don’t have one on me” Richie mumbled, staring at his hands as if a yoga mat might materialize in them if he concentrated hard enough.

 

“We don’t have changing rooms in this building, unfortunately, so you’ll have to use the toilets to get changed in,” Mike said, apologetically, pointing down the small corridor.

 

“No problemo, Mikey,” Richie replied, before walking off down the corridor.

 

Considering the fact that he hadn’t intended on taking a yoga class this morning, and the fact that he didn’t have anything to change into, Richie didn’t bother going into the toilets. Instead, he just walked straight through the only other door, which led him into a large, carpeted room with no windows or mirrors. The room smelt musty, like it had been locked ten years ago and not opened until three minutes prior, and the carpet was stained with suspicious looking sludgy marks. Despite the fact that it was nearly 6:45am, there were only three other people in the room.

 

One of those three people was Bev.

 

Richie marched through the room, and unfurled his mat right next to where Bev was sat on her own purple yoga mat in lotus position.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Bev swore under her breath, but before Richie could chew her out properly for lying to him, the door to the room opened and Eddie walked in.

 

Richie’s breath stuck in his throat like honey as he watches Eddie walk into the room and take his place at the front, smiling out at his small group of students, and it really was a small group. Four of them, including Richie, who can’t help but feel a stab in his gut when he thinks back to the crowded sessions Eddie used to lead in his now submerged studio.

 

“Good morning! It’s great to see some new faces here today, and even some familiar new faces too!” Eddie announces, sending a fleeting, but warm, smile in Richie’s direction.

 

The class begins, and Richie soon discovers that jeans are not the most ideal clothing choice when you need to spend an hour trying to bend your limbs in increasingly complicated ways. He huffs and puffs his way through the flow, movements severely limited both by the constrictive denim and the fact that, recently, he hasn’t been stretching as regularly as he should have been. Soon enough, as he always did at his original studio, Eddie starts to wander around the class, helping his students stand taller and stretch further. Due to the fact that there was such a small number of people in the room, it only took a few minutes for Eddie to get to Richie, who was bent over in a pathetic attempt at bridge pose.

 

Eddie squats down next to Richie, and gently grips Richie’s hips, pulling his pelvis higher, so that Richie’s butt was further from the floor, and his thighs were straining. It felt good. A smooth, satisfying stretch zipped down his spine, and Richie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

 

“Good,” Eddie praised, releasing his grip on Richie’s hips but not standing from his squat, “your thighs have weakened a little, you’ll need to work on strengthening them again”

 

“Eddie, shit, Eds, I can explain, I need to –“

 

“See me after class, Tozier” Eddie cuts him off, with a surprisingly playful lilt to his voice that causes Richie to fall out of the pose, landing on his back with an ‘oof’.

 

* * *

 

 When the class finishes, and the rest of the class ( _the other two people)_ have left, Richie finds himself hopping anxiously from foot to foot waiting for Eddie to beckon him over. Eddie was talking to Bev about something that Richie couldn’t quite make out, but they both looked relaxed and Eddie kept smiling at Bev with that ridiculous sun-smile that made Richie’s insides burn.

 

Eventually, Bev waves goodbye to Eddie and wanders out of the room, shooting a thumbs up to Richie over her shoulder before she disappears out of the door.

 

Richie waits.

 

Finally, Eddie finishes rolling his mat up, and leans against the wall.

 

“Hello, Richie”

 

“Should we do this in your office?” Richie asks, walking towards where Eddie was leaning against the wall.

 

“I don’t have an office, all I have is this room”

 

“Oh”

 

“I’m not mad at you about the money anymore, Richie,” Eddie says calmly, “Bev explained it to me. We went for coffee a few times, and I ranted and raved and told her that I hated you and that you were a wanker, and she agreed with me, sometimes. But she also told me about your background, and why you do the things you do, and why you sometimes might not understand why being so generous can be … insulting. She explained it all, and I listened, and I forgive you”

 

“… Really?’ Richie breathed, disbelievingly.

“Yes. I’ve forgiven you for that. What I _haven’t_ forgiven you for was not closing down the _gofundme_ campaign after I had _explicitly_ asked you to. I was pretty fucking clear, Rich, and you left it open. Hell, you pumped _more_ money into it!”

 

“I know, I know. I fucked up, Eds, I –”

 

“Do you know, though? Do you _really_ know?” Eddie pushed, pushing himself off the wall and walking slightly towards Richie, “you gave me over six and a half _thousand_ pounds after I explicitly told you I didn’t want any more of your money, and after you had already lied to me for _weeks,_ Rich, _weeks!”_

 

“I do know, Eds, I promise I do, and I’m not gonna stand here like an asshole and try and justify it. I – oh fuck it, I _miss_ you. I miss you more than is probably rational. I’m being ir-fucking-rational about this, but all I know is that I fucked up, I fucked us up before we’d even started, and I am really really _really_ sorry”

 

A beat passes. Then two beats, and then three.

 

Richie waits.

 

“I believe you. I don’t think I can forgive you yet, but I believe that you’re sorry” Eddie acknowledges, face blooming into a small, hesitant smile.

 

Richie barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air.

 

“How can I help you to forgive me? I’ll do anything, Eds, honest, I just – I miss you”

 

“Can you help me mount my new mirrors on the walls? I’ll think about forgiving you after that”

 

* * *

 

The large mirror slips from Richie’s fingers, and he drops it with a shout and a wince.

 

“SHIT!”

 

Small shards of mirror litter the floor, and Richie scowls at them. Eddie laughs, high and bright, before going to fetch the vacuum cleaner from the small cupboard in the corner of the room.

 

“Aw, shit. Eds, I’m so sorry, it just slipped outta my hands!”

 

“You’re a liability, Tozier”

 

“At least let me pay for a replacement?” Richie ventures, tone cautious.

 

“Uh, too fucking right you’re paying for it, you’re the klutz who broke it! That thing cost me more than my groceries for a _month_ do”

 

Richie vacuums up the mirror shards, and they work on hanging the next wall-length mirror. They’d been working together for nearly a week, and in that time they’ve nearly finished the entire wall, and only have four more sheets of mirror left.  Mike had popped in and out occasionally, holding the large sheets of mirror far more easily than Richie or Eddie could. For the most part, though, they worked alone.

 

“So, how’dya come to rent this place, then?”

 

“Uh, well, I let my place go a few months ago. I knew that I’d never save up enough money to fix it, so I flunked on the mortgage and the bank took it back. So I lost my entire investment, which … sucked. I still had enough of my initial bank loan to rent somewhere, and with my wages from the supermarket, I managed to convince the landlord of this building that a yoga studio really _would_ be profitable enough in this location, but … as you know, I don’t tend to get much custom here so …” Eddie trailed off, voice growing smaller and sadder with every word.

 

The ancient yearning that had been brewing under the surface of his skin for the months prior won the fight against reason, and before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, Richie pulled Eddie into his arms. Eddie stiffened, at first, but Richie clung to him somewhat desperately and eventually Eddie relaxed, his arms snaking around Richie’s waist and clinging. Richie rested the side of his face against the top of Eddie’s head for a few seconds, before turning slightly to press soft, clandestine kisses into Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s shoulders began to shake, just slightly at first, but then the shakes became more and more pronounced and before long Eddie was sobbing into Richie’s chest.

 

“Sssh, love, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise” Richie whispered into the shell of Eddie’s ear, hoping that the sweet nothings would calm the tempest currently spilling out of Eddie’s soul.

 

“It’s so fucked, Rich. It’s _still_ fucked, I can’t – it won’t – why doesn’t anything work out for me”

 

“Tell me where it hurts, baby, I’ll make it stop. Please tell me what I can do to make it better”

 

Richie continued pressing kisses into Eddie’s hair, working his way down past the back of Eddie’s ear, hoping that with each kiss he could dissolve some of the sadness in Eddie’s heart. After a few seconds, Eddie shifted his face slightly, just barely, but enough so that the kisses that were being pressed behind Eddie’s ear were now being pressed onto the apples of Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie kept shifting his head, and Richie kept kissing him, and soon enough, Richie’s kisses started landing on Eddie’s mouth.

 

The kisses stayed small, barely-there touches of Richie’s lips to Eddie’s, and Eddie didn’t kiss back, not at first, but eventually Eddie’s lips started to chase Richie’s when they retreated, and the kiss became something … more. They stood in the middle of the musty, windowless room, and kissed, long and slow, deep and sweet.

 

At length they broke apart, and stared at each other.

 

“Richie,” Eddie cautioned, voice low, “Richie I don’t … I don’t know what I’m doing”

 

“What?” Richie responded, panic lacing his words.

 

“I’m – I’m upset. I’m not thinking straight, I … I need some time to think”

 

“I thought – I thought you liked me” Richie whispered, feeling everything the pining teenager.

 

“I do, and that’s the problem. I like you so much, Richie, I like you so much that when you’re here I can’t think straight and … my life is a fucking mess. A complete and utter mess and I need to make sure … I need to make sure I’d be doing this for the right reasons. Being with you for the right reasons”

 

“But – ”  

 

“Please don’t fight me on this, because I’ll break and you’ll win. Please give me some time. Please, Rich. Two weeks. Can you wait for me for two weeks?”

 

“I’d wait until the end of time for you, my love” Richie muttered, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be walking out of the studio with Eddie on his arm.

 

He pressed one last kiss to Eddie’s forehead, letting his lips linger for as long as he could bare, before he left Eddie alone in the room.

 

* * *

 

 A week and a half later, and Richie was startled by a pounding at the door. Richie heaved himself up off his bed, where he was writing a track list for his next radio slot, and drifted over to the door, expecting to open it to an apologetic Beverly who had forgotten her keys.

 

When he opens the door, Eddie literally throws himself at Richie, strong arms encircling his neck.

 

“Thank you”

 

“Wha? Eds? What’s wrong?”

 

“Thank you” Eddie repeated, voice trembling and reverential.

 

Richie pulled back from the embrace, just enough to shoot Eddie a quizzical look.

 

“Care to share what you’re thanking me for, spider-monkey?”

 

“Your radio show”

 

“Ah, you heard about that then, eh?”

 

Eddie presses his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that is far too hard, and far too fleeting for Richie to enjoy properly, but he tries his best to match Eddie’s enthusiasm before Eddie is barreling straight into the apartment.

 

“So my client numbers kept increasing, right? and I was happy, don’t get me wrong, but it came entirely out of nowhere. One day I’d have three clients, and then the next day I’d have ten, and the next I’d have nearly twenty and I was starting to have to run multiple sessions a day! Which … didn’t make any sense. So I asked one of my clients how they’d heard of the studio, and they told me they’d heard an endorsement on the radio. I thought … weird, right? I asked them to tell me the station, and they did. And then I listened and … lo’ and behold”

 

Eddie gestured to Richie with both hands.

 

“Guilty as charged”

 

“But why?”

 

“I love you”

 

“Um,” was all Eddie managed to say in response, eyes wide and ridiculous and Richie loved him.

 

“I know you probably can’t say it back. I know it’s been virtually no time at all since we met but… you’re fucking it for me, Eddie. I felt like someone had ripped out my spleen when you left and I don’t want you to leave again. I thought of you in that shitty room with that nasty old carpet … it kills me. I can’t bare it. I was _so_ desperate to help you, but I knew throwing cash at you wouldn’t help so … I did the next best thing I could think of”

 

“You’re magical, Richie, you know that, right?”

 

“Ah, naw, Eds. That’s you”

 

“If we make a go of this, you’ve gotta promise me you’re not hiding anything else, that there aren’t any secret mansions or yachts or … hell, even private islands, that you’re keeping from me” Eddie demanded, swinging both of his arms around Richie’s neck once more, and resting his forehead against Richie’s.

 

“Well, there is this one yacht”

 

Eddie gawped at him.

 

“Kidding, kidding! It’s just a four person boat. With a cabin … and a bar … and a glass bottom … and …”

 

Eddie cut Richie off with a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story. I enjoyed writing it!!
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @ queen-sock if ya like, i'm always up for a natter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> [chapter title from 'New Eyes' by Adam Lambert. It's a wicked song]

**Author's Note:**

> oops I'm posting another fic despite the fact i posted one yesterday. Sorry for clogging up AO3 but I wanted to get this out today because it's been sitting in my drafts for too long. 
> 
> This will be another multi-chapter fic! 
> 
> lemme know what you liked and what you hated <3 I have taken bikram yoga classes before so I will probably remember the technical stuff but I might be wrong sometimes, so if I am, please correct me!!
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> also, i'm now on tumblr!! find me @thefutureisnotsobright


End file.
